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THE  DOWNING  LEGENDS 

Stories  in  IRbpme 


THE   WITCH   OF   SHILOH 
THE   LAST   OF   THE   WAMPANOAGS 

THE   GENTLE   EARL 
THE   ENCHANTED   VOYAGE 


BY 

j.  w.  DEFOREST 

AUTHOR  OF   A   LOVER'S    REVOLT,   THE   ODDEST   OF  COURTSHIPS,    IRENE   THE    MISSIONARY, 
PLAYING   THE   MISCHIEF,  JUSTINE'S    LOVERS,  HONEST  JOHN  VANE,  THE   WETHER- 
ELL  AFFAIR,  KATE  BEAUMONT,  OVERLAND,  MISS    RAVENEL'S  CONVERSION, 
SEACLIFF,    EUROPEAN   ACQUAINTANCE,  ORIENTAL   ACQUAINTANCE, 
WITCHING   TIMES,    ETC.,    ETC. 


NEW   HAVEN,    CONNECTICUT 

THE  TUTTLE,  MOREHOUSE  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  AND  PRINTERS 

IQOI 


Copyright,  IQOI, 

by 
JOHN   \V.  DiiKoKKs 


CONTENTS. 


Prelude, ix 

The  Witch  of  Shiloh, 3 

The  Last  of  the  Wampanoags,        •         •         •  55 

The  Gentle  Earl, 117 

The  Enchanted  Voyage,  .         .         .         .  157 


iv!534458 


PREFACE 


In  regard  to  form  the  Downing  Legends  are 
rhymed  "magazine  stories." 

In  regard  to  spirit  they  are  extravaganzas.  They 
will  not  be  liked  except  by  readers  who  like  such 
works  as  the  Odyssey,  the  Arabian  Nights,  the 
Orlando  Innamorato  of  Boiardo  and  Berni,  the 
Orlando  Furioso  of  Ariosto,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
Gulliver's  Travels,  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New 
York,  and  Hawthorne's  Wonder  Tales. 

Of  course  Downing  is  American  ''manifest  destiny" 
in  a  whimsical  guise.  As  to  an  exact  correspondence 
between  his  adventures  and  our  national  doings  I 
leave  that  question  to  Congress,  the  Supreme  Court 
and  the  American  people,  sitting  in  joint  referendum. 

These  adventures  will  no  doubt  be  stigmatized  by 
critic  Gradgrind  as  incredible,  unpractical  and  absurd. 
From  his  judgment  I  appeal  confidently,  like  any 
other  author,  to  remote  posterity. 

Good  old  Mr.  Feeble  Mind  (well  known  to  admirers 
of  Bunyan)  will  also  have  somewhat  to  say,  which 
will  not  be  clearly  understood,  and  so  need  not  be 
answered,  at  least  not  prophetically. 


EXPLANATORY    NOTES. 


THE  WITCH  OF  SHILOH. 

Section.  Line. 

2  24  Giles  Cory  was  pressed  to  death  at  Salem,  1692,  for 
refusing  to  plead  to  the  charge  of  witchcraft. 

18         i     Eyen  =  Eyes. 

21       35     Flytcd  =  flitted. 

24      28     Throwed  a  transformation.     From  "  Threw  a  fit." 

39  18  Nipton.  Old  seashore  form  of  Neptune,  sometimes 
used  for  Satan. 

42  30  Shingle  whacking.  Spinning  a  toad  aloft  by  put 
ting  it  on  one  end  of  a  balanced  shingle  and  hit 
ting  the  other  end  with' a  bludgeon. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  WAMPANOAGS. 

i         2     Baldybird.     The  bald  eagle. 

4      24     Mctacom  =  King  Philip,  or  Philip  of  Pokanoket. 

Killed  1676. 
30        3     Withouten  =  without. 


THE  GENTLE  EARL. 

5       n     To  i^'cet  =  To  wit;    to  know;    to  note. 
17       12     Brandon's  fste=St.  Brandon's  Isles. 
20        6    A-gley  =  Astray. 


Viii  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

THE  ENCHANTED  VOYAGE. 

2  20  Guildhall's  demiurges.  Two  wooden  statues,  popu 
larly  called  Gog  and  Magog,  formerly  in  the 
Guildhall,  London. 

5  i     Eftersoon  =  aftersoon ;     soon    after. 

6  34     Skinners— Tory  cow-thieves. 
19      16    Yore  ago  =  Long  ago. 

22        6     Shooken  hands.     Surviving  in   country  usage   fifty 

or  sixty  years  ago. 
27       ii     S/>0w  =  Spun;  whirled.     "When  Adam  delved  and 

Eve  span." 
30       12     Ben.     Disused  form  of  are. 


PRELUDE 


Ah,  who  would  doubt  that  blessed  ghosts 
Do  often  comfort  woful  men  ? 

Ah,  who  would  hold  that  seraph  hosts 
Are  never  plain  to  mortal  ken  ? 

I  gladly  think  that  souls  forgiven 
Glide  often  through  this  sinful  den, 

And  longing  gaze  where  clouds  are  riven 

To  watch  the  angels  float  from  Heaven. 

Nor  less  in  whistling  nights  of  storm 

I  lean  to  hear  the  elfin  lays ; 
Or  half  behold  some  sheeted  form 

Approaching  through  the  bosky  ways  ; 
Or,  marking  eyes  of  owlet  brighten, 

I  know  the  vampyre's  deadly  gaze; 
Or,  hearing  sound  of  footsteps  heighten, 
I  turn  to  face  some  hell-born  Titan. 

But  ah,  how  feeble  is  my  sight ! 

Our  fathers  could  not  choose  but  spy 
The  things  I  follow  day  and  night 

With  doubting  heart  and  baffled  eye. 
They  saw  the  upper  world  and  under, 

The  saintly  cohorts  gleaming  high, 
The  gates  of  glory  wheeled  asunder, 
The  Lord  of  glory  clothed  in  thunder. 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And,  near  at  hand,  Creation's  blot, 
They  saw  the  crew  of  Endless  Wail, 

The  wicked  dead  who  slumber  not, 
The  warlock  dancing  in  the  dale, 

The  wizard  Lapp,  the  troll  of  Sweden, 
The  gory  ghoul,  the  vampyre  pale, 

The  awful  princes  hurled  from  Eden, 

And  all  the  murky  brood  they  lead  on. 

No  doubt  the  wonderworld  is  gone ; 

Tis  farther  than  the  Milky  Way. 
Afreet  is  fled,  and  troll,  and  faun, 

And  gleesome  elf,  and  kindly  fay ; 
And  those  who  knew  them  fierce  or  tender 

Are  turned  to  long- forgotten  clay : 
But  oh,  has  life  so  wild  a  splendor 
As  when  the  Hebrew  sought  to  Endor? 

As  when  the  triton  clove  the  wave, 
The  naiad  twined  her  golden  hair, 

The  satyr  haunted  copse  and  cave, 
And  griffins  sparkled  through  the  air? 

When  Dionysus  piped  to  dances, 

And  Ceres  smiled  behind  the  share? 

When  Ares  led  the  leveled  lances, 

And  Phoebus  voiced  the  sybil's  trances? 

They  died  ;  all  died  ;  then  lived  again. 

The  names  were  new,  the  creatures  old. 
The  mermaid  trolled  the  syren  strain, 

The  lorelei  combed  the  sylphic  gold ; 


PRELUDE. 

The  wizard  stepped  the  bacchic  measure; 

The  brownie  trode  the  satyr's  wold ; 
The  dragon  watched  the  griffin's  treasure; 
Pan,  king  of  fairies,  wrought  his  pleasure. 

Another  change !     The  life  is  fled 

Anew  from  mountain,  grove  and  stream. 

The  gods  and  fays  alike  are  dead. 
Alan  recollects  them  as  a  dream, 

What  oldwife  bows  before  the  lares  ? 
What  prophet  sees  the  seraphs  gleam  ? 

What  chieftain  calls  on  haughty  Ares? 

Who  fears  the  elves  or  loves  the  fairies  ? 

If  any  wight  should  stammer  tale 
Of  times  when  Hell  and  Paradise 

Wrere  not  as  yet  beyond  the  veil, 
But  near  and  clear  to  human  eyes, 

I  marvel  much  if  men  would  hail  him 

With  cheering  welcome  in  their  guise, 
-  Or  stop  the  wincing  ear  and  scale  him 

To  Pandemonium's  inky  Baalim. 

Yet  certain  gnomes  of  olden  time 

Have  haunted  long  my  bosom's  hearth, 

Attuning  flimsy  pipes  of  rhyme 
To  fyttes  of  weirdly  woe  or  mirth, 

Unwilling  guests  who  strive  and  clamor 
To  errant  forth  and  pester  earth 

Writh  limping  lays  of  bygone  glamor, 

Perchance  withouten  sense  or  grammar. 


xii  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

I  bid  them  go;   I  bid  them  hurtle. 

Go  forth,  ye  sprites  of  buried  ages ! 
Go  seek  the  olive,  or  the  myrtle, 

On  fairy  steeds  of  printed  pages ; 
Go  where  the  critic  barbs  his  arrow, 

And  where  the  red  reviewer  rages ; 
Go  ride  your  raid  and  hush  your  haro 
In  storied  urn  or  stoneless  barrow ! 


THE   WITCH    OF   SHILOH 


THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS 


THE  WITCH  OF  SHILOH 


The  night  was  marvelous  to  hear ; 

It  had  a  strangely  mingled  mell. 
It  bellowed  like  a  raging  mere ; 

It  hissed  with  flights  of  spirits  fell. 
The  night  was  like  a  demon's  dream, 

(A  demon  dreaming  deep  in  hell), 
A  dream  of  blast  and  roar  and  gleam 
And  formless  horror  throned  supreme. 

If  ever  demons  dream,  I  think 

They  surely  dream  on  such  a  night. 

The  sky  was  like  a  sky  of  ink ; 

The  lightning  could  not  give  it  light. 

It  seemed  as  though  a  dragon  whirled 
Gigantic  wings  athwart  the  sight ; 

As  though  an  endless  dragon  curled 

His  wings  and  talons  round  the  world. 

I  think  that  surely  monsters  flew 
That  night  to  tear  our  feeble  earth ; 

I  think  that  surely  Satan  blew 

His  trumpet  round  creation's  girth ; 


THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  every  evil  creature  heard ; 

The  black  cat  bounded  from  the  hearth, 
The  he-goat  leaped,  the  owlet  whirred, 
The  goblin  flapped,  the  wizard  spurred. 

Around  the  gallows-tree  they  came, 
Around  the  pirate's  corse  they  flung; 

They  danced  a  dance  without  a  name, 
They  sang  a  song  in  unknown  tongue. 

The  demons  capered,  great  and  small ; 
The  witches  capered,  old  and  young ; 

And,  smirking  through  his  iron  thrall, 

The  dead  man  capered  over  all. 

ii 

Immortal  Downing !     Only  he 
Might  brave  the  darkness,  rain  and  thunder 
To  reach  the  haunted  gallows-tree 
And  drive  the  weirdly  swarm  from  under. 

But  Adam  Downing  stood  for  more 
Than  any  common  valiant  spirit ; 
His  patriarchal  essor  bore 
The  germ  of  Yankee  might  and  merit. 
A  demiurge,  a  type,  a  fate, 
Precursor  of  a  coming  nation, 
His  heart  was  pure,  his  aim  was  straight, 
His  sabre-stroke,  predestination ; 
And  therefore  might  be  fare  alone 
To  seek  the  prancing  Endor  rabble 
And  smite  it  unto  coasts  unknown 
As  fast  as  broom  and  goat  could  scrabble. 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH. 

Thus  much  of  argument  is  meet 
Before  the  muses  pour  their  coffers 
Of  magic  pearls  beneath  the  feet 
Of  scientists  and  other  scoffers. 
For  many,  mired  in  sloughs  of  doubt, 
Presume  to  scorn  the  wondrous  story, 
And  swear  that  witchcraft  dribbled  out 
When  Salem  flattened  Goodman  Cory. 
But  we  who  hold  what  elders  told, 
We  know  from  Downing's  Commentaries 
That  Satan  troubled  Shiloh's  fold 
With  spooks  and  spunkies  thick  as  berries ; 
That  wizard  bites  and  pricks  and  stitches 
Were  commoner  than  coughs  and  sneezing, 
And  those  who  least  believed  in  witches 
Were  most  perplexed  with  hellish  teasing. 


in 

Mid  levin  gleam  and  thunder  rattle 
Our  hero  fought  his  parlous  battle ; 
He  routed  Satan's  hideous  minions 
And  strowed  the  ways  with  demon-pinions, 
With  mangled  goat  and  broomstick  broken, 
Chaldean  scroll  and  wizard  token ; 
He  chased  the  myriad  mongrel  muddle 
Through  dripping  wold  and  splashing  puddle 
Till  not  an  imp  could  raise  a  bellow 
And  not  a  warlock  find  his  fellow ; 
In  short,  he  quelled  the  magian  revel 
And  spoiled  the  picnic  of  the  devil. 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Then,  panting  from  his  godlike  labor, 
He  sheathed  his  yard  or  two  of  sabre 
And  homeward  through  the  darkness  stumbled. 
Rude  march  !     The  thunder-billows  rumbled ; 
The  lightning  shot  demoniac  flashes, 
As  though  'twould  scorch  the  skies  to  ashes ; 
The  sheeted  flurries  hissed  and  rattled 
Like  volleys  poured  by  ranks  embattled; 
The  earth  was  mud,  the  air  was  water, 
And  Downing  streaming  like  an  otter. 

But  while  he  toiled  through  mud  and  mystery, 
The  dampest  hero  known  to  history, 
He  chanced  to  spy  beneath  a  thicket 
A  damsel  crouching  like  a  cricket, 
A  lassie  weird  in  garb  and  feature, 
Who  seemed  to  him  a  wizard  creature. 
One  leap !  a  panther  leap  !     He  caught  her, 
And  homeward  on  his  shoulder  brought  her. 


IV 

A  child  the  captive  seemed  to  him, 
Or  scarcely  more — a  half-ripe  maiden ; 
But  fierce  of  temper,  strong  in  limb, 
And  Downing  traveled  heavy  laden. 

Moreover,  all  around,  a  swarm 
Of  sombre  phantoms  beat  and  bayed ; 
Yea,  many  lords  of  night  and  storm 
Arrived  to  aid  the  elfin  maid ; 
Now  clutching  her  athwart  the  brumes, 
And  pulling  here  and  pushing  there ; 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH. 

Now  lifting  her  on  mighty  plumes 
Till  Downing  fairly  walked  in  air ; 
Now  twining  vines  across  his  way 
And  plunging  him  aslant  in  mire ; 
Now  deftly  leading  him  astray 
With  dodging  wrisps  of  fairy  fire. 
And  all  the  while  they  called  a  name, 
The  Tyrian  name  of  Yesebel, 
Or  uttered  titles  weirdly  sweet, 
Becoming  high  born  eldritch  dame; 
Or  showered  kisses  on  her  feet 
And  pleaded,  "Come,  O  Damozel!" 
As  't  were  a  dauphiness  of  hell. 

But,  drawing  near  to  Downing's  roof, 
A  change  befel  the  stormy  glamor ; 
The  shoal  of  phantoms  swerved  aloof 
And  wailing  shuddered  through  its  clamor, 
As  though  eolian  darkness  cried 
Its  hate  and  fear  of  coming  dawn, 
Or  souls  of  wildernesses  sighed 
Adieu  to  dryad,  sylph  and  faun ; 
And  when  our  sturdy  champion  bore 
The  captive  through  his  cottage  door, 
Unearthly  shadows  backward  drew 
And  midnight  poured  a  last  adieu. 
"Farewell ;"  its  voices  seemed  to  wail. 
"Farewell,  O  queen  of  night  and  gale ! 
Farewell  till  womanhood  shall  yearn, 
And  all  your  pulses  cry,  Return!5' 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 


No  doubt  the  grubbing  mole  denies 
That  Phoebus  shines  along  the  skies, 
And  judges  prairies  by  the  root 
Of  grass  that  snares  his  toilsome  foot. 
No  doubt  he  holds  in  sand-blind  scorn 
The  tales  of  creatures  Eden-born; 
Of  dazzling  seraphim  who  bare 
Response  to  patriarchal  prayer ; 
Of  darkling  wiles  and  whispers  weird 
That  made  our  fervent  sires  afeard. 
He  teaches  what  he  feels — no  more; 
And  worms  revere  his  groundling  lore, 
Believe  creation's  secret  lies 
Behind  the  fillets  of  his  eyes, 
And  clamor,  ''Hail,  Professor  Mole, 
Who  proves  the  corpse,  disproves  the  soul !" 

Alas !  we  dwell  in  carnal  times ; 
If  spirits  live,  they  live  in  rhymes. 
Alone  the  poet  keeps  the  faith, 
Alone  believes  in  imp  and  wraith, 
Alone  discerns  Elysian  coasts, 
The  angel  ranks,  the  goblin  hosts; 
In  all  the  earth  no  other  gaze 
Sees  Eblis  nights  or  Eden  days. 

I  pause.     The  matter  rolls  too  wide. 
The  farther  shore  is  undescried. 
I  call 'in  vain.     The  awful  sea 
Replies  in  tongues  unknown  to  me. 
Yea,  tiny  ripples  nearest  land 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH. 

Speak  words  I  cannot  understand, 
No  voyager  across  that  mere 
Returns  with  news  for  mortal  ear, 
And  therefore  must  I  haste  away 
To  dream  the  flimsy  dreams  I  may. 


VI 

"Farewell !"  the  parting  demons  wept 
As  Downing  shut  the  world  without. 
Then  silence  fell ;  the  thunder  slept ; 
The  goblin  tempest  lulled  its  shout. 
The  captive  ceased  to  moan  and  struggle, 
And  showed  a  gracious  mind  to  snuggle. 

A  winsome,  winning  lass  she  seemed 
As  ever  bard  or  painter  dreamed, 
With  gipsy  cheek  of  fervent  bloom, 
And  fleeces  black  as  raven's  plume 
That  curled  in  glossy  rings  above 
A  brow  Hellenic  gods  might  love. 
Such  maidens  danced  in  Syrian  nights 
Beneath  Astarte's  madding  lights, 
Or  waved  to  Baal  the  wine  and  corn, 
Or  wept  for  Tammuz'  drooping  horn. 
In  Paphian  grove,  in  Grecian  tongue, 
Such  russet  damsels  leaped  and  sung, 
Or  glinted  through  the  rippling  foam 
To  welcome  argent  Venus  home. 

Most  wondrous  were  the  lassie's  eyes ; 
They  dreamed  of  myths  and  mysteries ; 
They  sparkled  coaxings,  lures  and  loves ; 


IO  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

They  had  as  many  tints  as  doves ; 

They  twinkled  galaxies  of  light, 

And  yet  out-ravened  blackest  night. 

They  touched  her  captor's  heart;  he  smiled 

With  sudden  kindness  on  the  child ; 

Then  signed  his  only  daughter  near, 

And  said,  "I  bring  a  sister  here.'' 


VII 

So  Esther  Downing  gently  kissed 
The  radiant  child  of  midnight  mist, 
Arrayed  her  cleanly,  gave  her  meat 
And  room  upon  the  ingle  seat, 
Nor  ceased  the  while  to  ask  her  name 
And  question  her  of  whence  she  came. 

But  little  would  the  stranger  speak, 
Though  frolic  dimpled  chin  and  cheek. 
One  only  tale  had  she  to  tell ; 
She  laughed,  "My  name  is  Yesebel." 
Meantime  so  beautiful  was  she, 
So  brimming  bright  with  childish  glee, 
So  seeming  innocent  in  soul, 
And  ignorant  of  fear  or  dole. 
As  though  sidereal  night  had  blown 
A  cherub  from  beside  the  Throne, 
And  dropped  it  through  New  England  air 
To  show  that  Paradise  is  fair. 

And  Downing,  gazing  on  her  grace, 
Surmised  a  child  of  gentle  race. 
Beguiled  or  rapt  by  spooks  unclean 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  I  I 

To  wear  the  crown  of  elfin-queen, 
But  infant  pure  as  yet  in  mind 
And  fit  to  mate  with  human  kind. 
So,  holding  faith  that  Yankee  roof 
Would  slur  the  airy  fiends  aloof, 
He  settled  with  his  stubborn  will 
To  father  her,  for  good  or  ill. 

VIII 

Now  flitted  many  a  peaceful  day, 
Such  days  as  worthy  Shiloh  knew 
When  Satan  went  his  darkling  way 
And  led  afar  his  graceless  crew. 

No  longer  midnight  rang  agen 
With  goblin  hoots  and  wizard  cries; 
No  longer  writhed  the  sons  of  men 
On  pins,  like  learning's  butterflies. 
No  more,  athwart  the  wailing  rain, 
Athwart  the  tempest's  angry  hum, 
Did  vague,  unearthly  voices  plain 
To  Yesebel,  and  bid  her  come ; 
Aye,  weep  to  her  as  mothers  weep 
To  darlings  vanishing  beneath 
A  rushing  billow's  curling  steep, 
An  arrowy  river's  foam  and  seethe. 

The  damsel  grew  by  Downing's  hearth 
As  fresh  and  pure  as  any  flower 
That  findeth  hospitable  earth 
And  kindly  sun  and  kissing  shower. 
She  'quickened  all  the  hero's  frame 


12  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

To  gladness  when  she  smiled  or  spoke ; 
She  made  a  spring  of  blossoms  flame 
From  out  that  rugged  heart  of  oak. 


IX 

Nor  less  did  Esther  twine  and  fold 
The  tendrils  of  her  blooming  May 
About  the  waif  of  storm  and  wold, 
And  hold  her  dearer  day  by  day. 
Full  sisterly  the  damsels  kept 
Each  other  close  in  loving  palms, 
Together  laughed,  together  wept, 
Together  sang  the  sabbath  psalms. 

For  Yesebel  appeared  as  pure 
As  ever  breeze  that  summer  stirs ; 
No  weird  perfume,  no  naughty  lure 
Exhaled  from  any  word  of  hers. 
The  knowledge  of  the  wizard  past 
Had  faded  from  her  merry  brain, 
As  one  may  see  a  dusky  mast 
Go  down  behind  a  shining  main. 
She  knew  no  single  wicked  thing, 
No  cabalistic  sign  or  spell, 
Nor  any  stave  that  sorcerers  sing 
To  greet  the  seignories  of  hell. 

Forbidden  carols,  which  before 
Defiled  her  dainty  coral  mouth, 
Had  died  like  bubbles  on  the  shore, 
Had  gone  like  swallows  flitted  south. 
She  knew  not  whence  she  came,  nor  how ; 


•    THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  13 

The  elfin  past  was  all  a  haze ; 

If  any  one  recalled  it  now, 

She  mutely  stared  in  prim  amaze. 

She  held  herself  the  very  kin 

Of  those  who  daily  kissed  her  face, 

And  found  their  sweetest  joyaunce  in 

Communing  with  her  sunny  grace. 


O  change,  mutation,  miracle ! 
How  many  lives  we  live  in  one! 
We  hear  a  tinkling,  tiny  bell : 
A  curtain  falls :   a  scene  is  done. 
Another  opens :    all  is  new— 
The  actors,  motives,  joy  and  pain : 
The  past  has  disappeared  like  dew ; 
And  yet  we  love  and  hate  again. 

O  bright  illusions !  hopes  like  fires, 
That  quickened  youth's  aspiring  feet ! 
Swift  inclinations,  strong  desires, 
Of  old  so  steady  in  their  seat! 
Enchanted  towers,  a  moment  shown ! 
Tiaras  round  a  spectre's  head! 
Where  are  you  ? — Shattered  !  overthrown ! 
The  creatures  that  we  were,  are  dead. 


XI 

So  flitted  thirty  tranquil  moons, 
And  every  day  this  Yesebel 
Increased  her  store  of  daintv  boons 


14  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

That  dower  a  beauteous  damozel. 
Fair,  too,  was  Esther,  passing  fair, 
With  faintly  flusht  carnelian  skin, 
And  floods  of  sunlight  through  her  hair, 
And  eyes  revealing  Heaven  within. 

And  many  loved  them,  many  came 
To  bow  before  their  dawn  of  charms : 
High-stepping  squires  of  county  fame 
For  spacious  homes  and  fruitful  farms; 
Some  worshipping  the  holy  skies 
That  Esther's  lashes  drooped  above; 
Some  dazzled  by  those  gipsy  eyes 
That  seemed  to  promise  storms  of  love. 

And  there  was  one,  the  favored  one, 
The  largest,  richest  soul  of  all, 
Whose  lyric  accents  deftly  spun 
Round  human  hearts  a  wizard  thrall ; 
Whose  eloquence  had  tones  sublime, 
That  startled  while  they  lured  the  soul, 
Like  some  resounding  churchly  chime 
A-swing  betwixt  delight  and  dole  ; 
Or,  choosing  thus,  could  swiftly  wake 
The  stormy  throbs  of  fervid  blood, 
And  cause  the  waves  of  love  to  break 
On  all  the  shores  of  womanhood. 

No  squire  was  he  of  carnal  mould, 
With  burly  frame  and  beefy  hand, 
Attired  in  velvet,  lace  and  gold 
And  boasting  miles  of  fenced  land. 
The  pastor  of  the  fold  he  was, 
Where  Yesebel  and  Esther  bowed 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  I  5 


Beneath  the  glare  of  Sinai's  laws, 
Or  saw  the  bow  behind  the  cloud. 
He  looked  a  very  Nazarite, 
Assured  to  holiness  from  birth, 
A  spirit  clothed  in  saintly  white, 
Almost  a  visitant  on  earth. 
And  many,  gazing  on  his  face 
And  groping  for  the  soul  within, 
Believed  him  born  a  child  of  grace, 
Who  never  knew  the  load  of  sin. 

Such  was  Apollos  Himmelstone, 
A  flower  of  starry  gardens,  sown 
As  though  by  angels,  here  below, 
To  show  how  Eden's  roses  blow. 


XII 

If  any  maid  of  mortal  clay 

Should  love  a  bright  seraphic  sprite, 
Should  worship  him  for  many  a  day, 

And  feel  as  nothing  in  his  sight; 
And  then  should  hear  him  call  her  near 

And  meekly  tell  his  angel  love, 
Beseeching  her  to  hold  him  dear 

And  bide  with  him  in  realms  above ; 
I  think  her  happiness  would  be 

Immense,  intense  as  any  dole ; 
And  marvel  like  a  billowing  sea 

Would  almost  drown  her  throbbing  soul. 


1 6  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

XIII 

Such  happiness  to  Esther  fell. 
She  heard  this  gracious  levite  tell 
His  love,  and  plead  to  win  her  own ; 
She  sate  on  love's  imperial  throne, 
A  queen  of  love;   but  ah,  how  meek! 
What  humble  tears  upon  her  cheek! 
She  spoke ;   the  lips  would  scarcely  part ; 
The  words  were  sobs,  but  gave  a  heart. 
So  they  were  plighted,  sweetly  sworn 
As  one  to  joy,  as  one  to  mourn, 
As  one. to  tread  the  pilgrim's  path 
And  fly  the  city  doomed  to  wrath, 
As  one  to  seek  the  Joyous  Heights 
And  Beulah's  shades  and  Eden's  lights. 

Their  voices  mingled  in  the  psalms, 
They  mingled  in  the  sighs  of  prayer 
They  interchanged  the  precious  balms 
That  angels  fling  through  earthly  air ; 
Wing  interlocked  with  wing  they  flew 
Above  the  birthplace  of  the  dew 
To  where — .     Ah,  realm  of  mysteries, 
Too  high,  too  pure,  for  sinful  eyes ! 
The  mortal  glance  must  turn  away, 
The  worldly  songster  check  his  lay. 


So  other  peaceful  moons  went  by. 
O  gladsome  moons,  why  should  ye  die? 
Why  should  the  perfect-circled  light 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH. 

Of  joyaunce  dwindle  into  night? 

Alas !  how  many  roses  bloom 

To  shed  their  petals  o'er  a  tomb ! 

There  was  a  lily  of  the  vale. 

There  was  !     Where  is  she  ?     Ask  the  gale. 

There  came  a  change  in  Esther's  dream 
Of  life.     It  took  a  nightmare  cast. 
She  rowed  in  vain  against  a  stream. 
A  shadow  threatened  ;   spectres  passed. 
There  came  a  phantom,  vague  but  grim, 
A  fitful  looking-for  of  wrong 
Betwixt  her  loving  heart  and  him 
Who  lately  made  her  life  a  song. 

There  came  a  change  in  Yesebel, 
A  transformation  hard  to  tell, 
A  marvel  wrought  by  ancient  spell, 
A  bubble  rising  through  a  mere 
But  lately  crystal  pure  and  clear, — 
A  bubble  from  the  founts  of  hell. 
Aye,  suddenly  this  saintly  thing 
Became  as  weird  as  any  fay 
That  ever  haunted  moonlit  spring 
Before  the  elder  faiths  were  grey. 
In  other  maids  it  might  have  been 
The  pranksomeness  of  youthful  mood, 
The  witchery  of  years  of  teen, 
The  dazing  dawn  of  womanhood. 
With  Yesebel  it  seemed  to  be 
A  swift  revulsion  tow'rd  the  mind 
And  memories  of  days  when  she 
Was  one  of  Elfland's  darkling  kind. 


1 8  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Aroused — no  matter  how — who  knows? 

A  dormant  nature  waked  again, 

A  resurrected  maenad  rose, 

A  fettered  syren  burst  her  chain. 


xv 


Her  eyes  were  like  to  haunted  wells 
Where  guileful  necromancy  dwells, 
And  beckons  those  who  gaze  therein 
To  enter  gorgeous  halls  of  sin 
That  glow  beneath  the  wizard  wave 
Like  Eden  courts,  but  hide  a  grave. 

Her  eyes  were  beautifully  strange, 
Alive  with  tender,  melting  change 
Of  many  colors,  many  beams, 
Commixed  and  sweet  as  fairy  dreams, 
But  aye,  whatever  tint  they  caught, 
Right  perilous  to  tranquil  thought, 
And  fit  to  drive  an  anchorite, 
For  safety,  into  desert  night, 
Or  make  a  seraph  close  his  eyes 
And  wing  his  way  to  sheltering  skies. 
No  younker  looked  between  their  brims 
Without  a  thrill  in  heart  and  limbs, 
A  something  like  delicious  fear 
That  startled  much,  yet  lured  anear, 
As  though  a  little  bird  he  were, 
Bewildered  by  a  serpent's  stare. 

Moreover,  when  she  walked  with  men 
In  forest  ways,  or  even  when 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  1 9 

She  flouted  them  in  rompish  games 
Beneath  the  gaze  of  puckered  dames, 
Her  beauty  breathed  a  weird  perfume 
(More  luscious  than  of  rose  in  bloom) 
That  made  whoever  stood  anigh 
Turn  dreamy-gentle  in  the  eye, 
And  deeply  breathe  to  catch  again 
The  sorcery  that  thrilled  his  brain, 
Nor  care  if  elders  leaned  askance 
To  study  him  with  surly  glance. 


XVI 

Alas,  what  puny  fences  rise 
'Twixt  Eden  blooms  and  asps  of  hell ! 
The  pastor's  heart  was  Paradise, 
Yet  everywhere  twined  Yesebel. 
While  guarding  seraphs  wept  or  slept 
Within  and  all  about  she  slid, 
Athwart  the  valley  lilies  crept, 
Among  the  Sharon  roses  hid, 
Or  bent  the  fair  forbidden  fruit 
To  longing  hands  that  trembled  nigh, 
And  caroled  sweet  as  Lydian  lute, 
"Behold  ye  shall  not  surely  die." 

How  falls  the  saint,  the  shining  one 
Who  walked  in  righteousness  and  faith, 
Whose  earnest  feet  had  almost  won 
The  heights  beyond  affright  or  skaith, 
The  gladsome  mounts  that  Christian  clomb 
To  see  the  road  no  longer  dim, 


2O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And,  fair  ahead,  the  heavenly  home 
Ablaze  with  stars  and  seraphim  ? 
Alas !  full  oft  the  noblest  fall, 
The  sweetest  heart,  the  richest  brain; 
The  soul  that  loveth  best  of  all, 
By  love  is  often  snared  and  slain. 

XVII 

There  came  a  time  Apollos  led 
Two  lives,  diverse  as  yea  and  nay : 
An  open  life,  a  life  of  day ; 

Another  when  the  day  was  dead : 

One  wrenched  by  anguishes  of  prayer 
And  wrestlings  after  penitence : 
Another  bound  in  carnal  sense 

And  haled  by  princes  of  the  air. 

Like  one  who  hath  two  guardian  sprites, 
(The  one  a  fiend,  an  angel,  one) 
He  walked  with  Esther  'neath  the  sun, 

With  Yesebel  through  wizard  nights. 

The  world  that  knew  his  morning  mood 
Believed  him  fit  for  Eden  meads ; 
The  world  that  shared  his  darkling  deeds 

Esteemed  him  one  of  Belial's  brood. 

How  many  live  (ah,  who  can  tell 

But  One  who  watcheth  from  the  skies?) 
How  many  live  such  life  of  lies, 

Such  double  life  of  Heaven  and  Hell? 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  21 

XVIII 

Yea,  only  otherworldly  eyen 
Perceived  the  pastor's  star  grow  pale. 
How  could  unshriven  saint  divine 
That  holiness  like  his  might  fail? 
Yet  now  and  then,  and  yet  agen 
An  airy  shoal  of  whispers  stole 
From  home  to  home  of  awestruck  men 
Concerning  her  who  snared  his  soul. 
Aye,  babblings  fathered  none  knew  where, 
(Such  tales  as  mumbling  beldames  tell) 
Like  whirling  snowflakes  filled  the  air, 
All  drifting  thick  round  Yesebel. 

No  wonder  tattle  chose  her  out : 
Outlandish  seemed  her  gipsy  gaze; 
Her  story  was  a  thing  of  doubt, 
And  elfin-strange  were  all  her  ways. 
To  wit,  a-many  times  she  larked 
Such  trills  as  deacons  never  pitched, 
So  syren-sweet  that  whoso  harked 
Stood  open-mouthed  like  wight  bewitched. 
Full  often  chanted  she  like  this 
To  girlish  mate  and  rustic  swain 
Until  they  blushed  with  foolish  bliss 
And  pleaded  for  the  lilt  again. 

Whence  came  these  magian  minstrelsies 
No  learned  doctor  e'er  divined ; 
Perchance  they  were  but  memories 
Of  nursing  runes  her  grandam  whined ; 
Perchance  (as  rigid  spirits  held) 


THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

A  former  life  sent  echoes  down 
Of  psalms  that  dancing  brownies  yelled 
To  her  who  wore  the  wizard  crown. 
For  oft  of  Lady  Moon  she  hymned, 
How  bright  she  made  the  fairy  knoll, 
And  how  her  loving  maenads  brimmed 
With  joy  unknown  to  Quaker  soul. 


XIX 

It  cometh  hard  to  mortal  men 
To  write  a  rune  from  wizard  lips, 
For  weirdly  ringers  jog  the  pen 
And  blunders  gambol  where  it  trips ; 
While,  underneath  the  table-baize, 
Demoniac  jokers  hammer  through 
A  rigmarole  of  naughty  lays 
That  worthy  fairy  never  knew. 
Yet  noble  Downing  (mouth  of  gold) 
Hath  handed  down  the  wonder-story 
That  oftentime  his  elfling  trolled 
This  hymn  to  midnight's  queen  of  glory. 

Hear  me,  O  mighty  one, 

Victor  of  Day, 
Queen  of  the  starry  band, 

Regent  of  Night ! 
Mount  from  the  dying  sun, 

Fly  from  the  Faraway, 
Come  to  the  Fairyland, 

Come  in  thy  might ! 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  23 

Give  me  to  reign  for  thee ! 

Give  me  to  reign, 
Ruling  the  realm  of  fays 

Far  and  anigh, 
Making  all  bow  the  knee, 

Kneel  with  bewildered  brain, 
Worship  with  longing  gaze, 

Worship  and  die ! 


xx 

But  gossips  muttered  stranger  things. 
They  told  that  every  moonlit  night 
She  hasted  forth  (belike  on  wings) 
And  sought  a  lonesome  windy  height 
Where  anthemed  hoarse  an  oaken  wood ; 
And  all  the  argent  way  she  sang 
In  tongues  no  Christian  understood 
Till  every  bell  of  echo  rang 
And  magic  tumbled  forth  her  brood. 

Such  roundelays  she  trilled,  so  sweet, 
So  full  of  necromantic  power, 
That  brownies  came  on  pranksome  feet 
And  fairies  leaped  from  every  flower; 
All  trooping  lightly  tow'r'd  a  glade 
Of  turf  amid  the  wizard  wold, 
Where  roundabout  they  danced  and  played 
As  woodlings  used  in  days  of  old. 
Moreover,  when  the  magic  swarm 
Dissolved  and  Yesebel  returned, 
Above  her  many  a  winged  form 


24  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Of  fay  and  gnome  like  fireflies  burned ; 
Rejoicing  sprites,  with  kindly  eyes 
As  pure  as  jeweleries  of  dew, 
And  lips  that  had  a  pouting  guise 
Of  blowing  kisses  while  they  flew. 


XXI 

Yea,  further,  all  the  voices  woke 
That  peopled  night  in  years  agone. 
From  roaring  wooded  waste  they  spoke, 
From  tinkling  brook  and  sighing  lawn. 
Around  the  eldritch  girl's  abode 
They  circled,  lifting  plaintive  trills 
And  harmonies  that  cooed  and  flowed 
Like  yearning  notes  of  whippoorwills : 
Faint  solos  rolling  into  choirs 
That  sudden  fell,  then  sharply  rose, 
Like  carols  from  eolian  wires 
When  winter  through  the  casement  blows : 
Enchanters  summoning  their  mate 
(Perchance  a  mate,  perchance  their  queen) 
Till  morning  chased  the  goblin  state 
And  power  of  darkness  from  the  scene. 

But  ever,  when  the  tempest  yelled 
And  lightning  tore  the  sheeted  rain, 
The  magic  music  keened  and  swelled 
Like  choruses  of  souls  in  pain ; 
And  through  the  windy  midnight  pressed 
An  eager  train  of  pallid  flights 
That  ringed  the  lassie's  sleeping  nest 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  25 

And  beat  against  her  window-lights ; 
Now  driving  aimless  here  and  there 
As  fitfully  as  shapes  of  dream, 
Or  bats  and  other  waifs  of  air, 
Bewildered  by  a  lantern's  gleam ; 
Now  beckoning  with  filmy  hands 
And  signing  her  to  fare  with  them 
Through  lurid  night  to  far-off  lands, 
Perchance  to  wear  a  diadem ; 
While  ever  and  anon  they  purled 
Imploring  runes  in  speech  unknown, 
For  ages  flyted  from  the  world, 
Or  known  to  wizard  wight  alone. 
One  word  was  clear  in  all  the  mell ; 
That  single  word  was  Yesebel. 


XXII 

Thus  came  the  fairies  oftentime, 
As  visible  to  mortal  gaze 
As  phosphor-sheen  of  tropic  clime, 
Or  waves  of  borealis  rays. 
And  those  who  sentried  from  above 
Affirmed  that  they  were  sweet  to  see 
As  any  shape  that  painters  love, 
Or  poets  dream,  or  hermits  flee  ; 
While  others,  watching  from  below, 
Half  blinded  by  telluric  air, 
(Or  viewing  clearly ;  who  can  know  ?) 
Spied  nothing  holy,  nothing  fair. 

They  said  the  radiances  of  night 


26  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Endured  an  evil  second  birth 
And  shed  their  garniture  of  light 
Whenever  they  approached  the  earth ; 
That  each  renounced  his  pearly  guise 
For  ugliness  as  black  as  soot 
And  looked  the  villain  Sire  of  lies 
From  horned  head  to  cloven  foot. 
And  like  enow  our  fallen  star 
Has  potency  to  soil  and  mar 
The  sheen  of  whatsoever  plume 
Adventures  through  its  sinful  brume; 
For  well  we  know  that  long  ago 
Gods  made  the  Syrian  welkin  glow, 
Who  lost  anon  their  hallowed  fame 
To  find  Avernian  name  and  shame. 


XXIII 

And  Downing  tells  a  ghastly  tale, 
Affirming  in  his  Commentaries 
That  haunting  sprites  of  nightly  gale 
Are  swart  of  skin  as  whortleberries. 

"As  black,"  he  adds,  "as  any  kittle 
That  ever  shamed  a  slattern's  ingle ; 
An'  every  Shiloh  chug  kin  whittle 
Superior  fairies  from  a  shingle. 

"I  watched  'em  through  my  kitchen  winders, 
A-whirlin'  down  the  blowy  weather, 
Now  scalin'  round  like  paper  cinders, 
Now  flockin  clost  as  bees  together. 
The  wings  were  flimsy,  torn  an'  scurvy, 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH. 

Consid'able  like  paper  money ; 
An'  when  they  tumbled  topsy-turvy, 
'Twas  partly  horrid,  partly  funny; 
While  as  for  music,  any  boodle 
Of  summer  frogs  in  Shiloh  ditches, 
Will  yowp  a  sweeter  Yankee-Doodle 
Than  all  your  singin'-schools  of  witches. 

"The  boys  who  squinted  from  the  garret 
Reported  quite  another  story, 
Pretendin'  they  could  skurcely  bear  it, 
The  figgers  glinted  sech  a  glory. 
But  youth  is  fearfully  deludin'; 
It's  eyes  are  big  as  bushel  measures ; 
An'  whipsters  allays  are  concludin' 
Forbidden  spitzenbergs  are  treasures; 
While  we,  who  mowed  our  craps  to  stubble 
In  fields  as  wide  as  theirn,  an'  wider, 
Know  thoroughly  through  toil  an'  trouble 
That  Sodom  fruit  makes  awful  cider. 


XXIV 

"Jest  here  I  suddintly  remember 
That  certain  neighbors  grumbled  roundly 
Because  I  didn't  scoot  up  chember 
An'  switch  my  gipsy  lassie  soundly ; 
Believin'  (very  like  with  reason) 
That  she  was  queen  of  certain  devils 
Who  sartinly  would  hold  it  treason 
To  bring  her  trouble  by  their  revels ; 
An'  holdin  forth  (perhaps  correckly) 


28  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

That  sech  an  arnest  kind  of  dealin' 
U'd  scart  the  'tarnal  coots  direckly 
An'  hazed  'em  out'n  Shiloh  squealin'. 

"An  here  I'm  druv  to  make  confession, 
Although  it  hurts  like  pullin'  grinders ; 
But  times  there  be  of  dark  possession, 
An'  wiser  men  have  worn  the  blinders. 
The  jade  was  sech  a  tearin'  beauty, 
An'  looked  so  leetle  like  a  sinner, 
I  couldn't  squarely  face  my  duty 
An'  say  that  Uncle  Hob  was  in  her. 
I  hate  to  larrup  gals  like  cattle; 
My  heart  preferred  to  resk  a  sally ; 
An'  thus  I  soon  declared  for  battle, 
Though  waged  with  all  the  Shadder  Valley. 

"So,  after  takin'  drink  an'  vittle, 
I  trotted  out  to  poke  an'  whittle. 
An'  now  that  flyin'  generation 
Of  vipers  throwed  a  transformation. 
They  quit  cahootin'  round  my  gables 
An'  settled  down  like  forty  Babels, 
A  truly  awful,  howlin',  squirmin', 
Rambunkshus  flock  of  pizen  vermin, 
Goats,  tomcats,  panters,  anacunders, 
Imps,  dragons,  spooks  an'  other  wonders, 
Who  charged  me  on  a  tearin'  gallop, 
An'  seemed  resolved  to  have  my  scallop. 

"The  leader  was  a  boar-constrictor, 
Who  opened  six-feet-wide  his  picter, 
Proposin',  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
To  try  the  whole  of  Downing's  bacon, 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  29 

But  never  got  a  single  swaller, 
Because  I  sabred  through  his  collar 
An'  left  his  serpentship  in  sections 
That  skipped  in  opposite  directions. 

"The  next  who  offered  me  a  banter 
Was  twenty  foot  or  so  of  panter, 
Who  carmly  ast  himself  to  supper, 
But  got  a  slash  from  snoot  to  crupper, 
That  ruther  cut  the  combat  shorter, 
Both  halves  a-bawlin'  out  for  quarter. 


xxv 

"Well,  after  that  the  fight  was  easy ; 
The  spooks  were  old,  the  dragons  wheezy ; 
The  billy-goats  were  clumsy  hitters 
An'  kinder  tottlish  on  their  bobbins ; 
The  tomcats  frowzy,  starvelin'  critters, 
A  poorish  match  for  mice  an'  robins ; 
From  whence  I  jedge  that  Satan's  legions 
Are  nourished  purty  much  on  shadders ; 
An'  probably  the  brimstone  regions 
Don't  run  so  rich  as  Shiloh  medders. 

"At  any  rate,  the  spirit  bodies 
Went  down  as  easily  as  toddies. 
I  found  it  ruther  fun  than  trouble 
To  bust  their  glory  like  a  bubble, 
An'  worked  destruction  on  their  models 
Till  every  rood  was  heaped  with  noddles, 
All  dribblin  smoke  from  mouths  an'  noses 
Like  jackolanterns  lit  with  oakum, 


3O  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

Some  smilin'  peaceable  as  Moses, 

Some  snappin'  when  I  went  to  poke  'em, 

As  though,  perhaps,  some  perished  hardened 

An'  others  longin'  to  be  pardoned. 

"In  twenty  minutes  Tophet's  embers 
Conceded  that  the  fight  was  over; 
The  biggest  part  had  lost  their  members, 
The  rest  had  skittered  off  to  cover. 


XXVI 

"But  now  comes  Beelzebub's  endeavor 
To  make  the  battle  look  like  dreamin' ; 
The  coot  is  more  than  Injun-clever 
In  every  kind  of  trick  an'  schemin'. 

"When  mornin'  sot  the  little  birdies 
A-grindin'  on  their  hurdy-gurdies 
I  puttered  out  with  pick  an'  shovel 
To  lay  the  witches  under  gravel. 
But  everything  was  changed ;  the  corpses 
Were  neither  fish  nor  flesh  nor  porpses. 
I  couldn't  light  on  wing  or  gizzard 
Of  fiend  or  spook  or  ghoul  or  wizard. 
Instead  of  hell-fire  salamanders 
I  found  a  stack  of  geese  an'  ganders; 
An'  wust  of  all,  my  neighbor  Moultrie 
Presented  claims  for  slaughtered  poultry. 
Thus  Beelzebub,  that  prince  of  cheatin', 
Contrived  to  cover  up  his  beatin', 
To  plunder  me  of  all  my  laurels 
An'  cast  a  slur  upon  my  morals." 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  3! 

XXVII 

Thus  was  it  noble  Downing  fought, 
And  saw  his  triumph  turn  to  naught, 
While  Shiloh  rang  with  foolish  scorn 
And  .Satan  lifted  high  his  horn. 

Meantime  the  elfin  maiden  stroll,ed 
By  midnight  through  the  oaken  wold, 
And  there  beneath  the  moonshine  did 
Whatever   Samuel's  laws   forbid. 
Nor  walked  alone ;  beside  her  stole 
The  gracious  youth  who  knew  the  right, 
And  pointed  out  the  Heavenly  goal 
To*  lowly  Shiloh's  sons  of  light. 
Nor  he  alone :    the  mysteries 
Qf  wizard  darkness  lurked  anigh ; 
For  zephyrs  murmured  witching  glees 
And  thickets  whispered  counsels  sly; 
The  field-mice  squeaked  forbidden  words, 
The  crickets  chirruped  wicked  leers, 
And  titters  came  from  tattling  birds 
And  sneering  owlets  hooted  jeers. 

So,  many  a  time,  through  Eblis  land 
This  couple  sauntered  hand  in  hand, 
And  heard  its  naughty  echoes  ring 
As  gladsome  music,  sweeter  far 
To  them  than  any  caroling 
Of  saints  beyond  the  morning  star ; 
Nor  cared  though  many  a  cloven  foot 
Behind  them  tracked  their  paradise ; 
Nor  cared  though  poison  dewed  its  fruit 
And  all  its  roses  budded  lies. 


32  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXVIII 

One  summer  eve  Apollos  sought 
The  bedside  of  a  dying  boy ; 
Unearthly  comfortings  he  brought, 
And  changed  the  trembling  plaint  to  joy. 
His  prayer  arose  on  lyric  wings 
That  seemed  to  challenge  angel  flights ; 
His  psalm  resounded  like  the  strings 
Of  golden  harps  on  Eden's  heights ; 
And  ere  he  left  the  mourning  hearth 
To  follow  paths  that  seraphs  flee, 
A  grateful  soul  had  'scaped  from  earth 
And  pain  and  sin  and  such  as  he. 

XXIX 

He  burst  away  from  prayer  and  praise 
To  find  delights  of  fairy  glade. 
His  cheek  was  all  a-flame ;  his  gaze 
Shot  flashes  like  a  polished  blade. 
He  flew  with  eager  feet  along 
The  road  from  which  he  warned  so  well, 
And  every  word  he  breathed  was  song, 
For  every  word  was  Yesebel. 

But  suddenly  a  woman's  eyes 
Illumed  the  darkness ;    sparkled  keen 
Yet  mournfully;    seraphic  skies 
Of  love  and  love's  reproof;   their  sheen 
Was  terrible  to  him,  though  sweet. 
They  pierced  the  shadows  round  his  soul ; 
They  checked  the  madness  of  his  feet. 


.    THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  33 

He  paled  like  one  who  hears  the  toll 

Of  funeral  bells,  and  fears  to  die. 

He  stopped  with  lifted  arms  and  sobbed, 

"Oh,  Esther!"— "Yes,"  she  wept,  "  Tis  I!" 

Then,  standing"  by  his  side,  she  throbbed 

And  struggled  through  a  stormy  mere 

Of  pleading,  every  wave  a  tear. 


XXX 

I  know  you  love  another.     Yea, 
I  know  her  name.     But  let  it  go ! 

My  gladness  had  its  little  day 
And  set  forever.     Be  it  so ! 

I  was  not  worthy  such  a  throne 

Of  joy  as  once  seemed  all  my  own. 

0  days  when  earth  was  paradise ! 
When  seraphim  attended  me  ! 

Alas !  I  half  forgot  the  skies, 

Forgot  my  very  God  in  thee. 
He  rescued  with  the  sword  of  flame. 
He  punished.     Hallowed  be  his  name ! 

1  murmur  not.     I  blame  you  not. 
I  ask  you  not  for  happiness. 

I  offer  not  a  love  forgot. 

Its  strength  is  gone.     I  could  not  bless 
Your  life  as  once  T  hoped  to  do. 
Henceforth  a  gulf  divides  us  two. 


34  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

But  you,  Apollos !  where  are  you  ? 

Am  I  the  only  one  forsook? 
Look  back  upon  the  joy  you  knew 

In  ways  of  holiness.  Then  look 
Adown  the  path  you  tread  to  night. 
Are  they  the  same  ?  Is  darkness  light  ? 

Where  is  the  eloquence  that  burned 
Along  the  road  that  leads  to  God  ? 

Has  he  who  taught  the  journey,  learned 
No  footstep  feebler  souls  have  trod? 

The  guide,  the  champion,  of  our  band 

Alone  turns  back  from  Eden-land. 

Are  not  the  companies  of  Heaven, 
The  high  communion  of  the  just, 

The  purity  like  snow  new-driven, 
The  wealth  beyond  all  loss  or  rust, 

Fairer  than  any  hope  to  dwell 

With  lords  and  princesses  of  hell  ? 


XXXI 

She  ceased.     Her  pleading  mantled  up 
To  sobbing, — woe's  primeval  speech. 
It  overbrimmed  the  little  cup. 
Of  human  language;   strove  to  reach 
Unearthly  eloquence.     Meanwhile 
Her  lips  revealed  a  yearning  smile 
That  writhed  and  quivered  like  a  wretch 
Whose  limbs  the  torture-engines  stretch. 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  35 

But  presently  she  grew  aware 
That  none  attended  to  her  moan. 
She  sobbed  and  gasped  to  empty  air; 
The  man  she  pleaded  with  had  flown ; 
Had  leaped  away  like  one  who  speeds 
From  punishment  of  evil  deeds. 
He  ran  like  Cain,  alone,  alone. 
The  wicked  darkness  helped  his  flight, 
The  swarthy-pinioned,  demon  night. 
It  shielded  him  from  pitying  eyes 
That  strove  to  follow,  longed  to  save. 
Alone  he  fled  with  broken  cries 
Like  one  who  fights  against  a  wave 
That  smothers  him  in  curling  froth. 
His  aching  heart  was  bitter  wroth 
With  every  living  thing  but  her 
Whose  magic  made  his  pulses  stir. 

He  neared  the  wizard  wold  and  heard 
Her  voice  careering  like  a  bird  ; 
(A  bird  afloat  on  balanced  wings 
Who  sings  unknowing  that  he  sings) 
So  lightly  soared  her  gladsome  lay 
Of  times  when  frolic  gods  held  sway ; 
When  every  hill-top  had  its  grove, 
And  every  grove  its  glowing  shrine, 
Where  Baal  accepted  corn  and  wine, 
Or  Ashtaroth  accepted  love. 


36  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXXII 

There  was  a  maid  of  Sidon 
Who  joyed  to  watch  the  night 

When  all  its  princes  ride  on 
Their  jeweled  steeds  of  light. 

She  loved  the  brightest  daemon 
Who  flies  from  pole  to  pole, 

And  wrote  his  lordly  name  on 
The  altar  of  her  soul. 

To  find  him  and  to  hold  him 
She  wandered  north  and  south ; 

To  clasp  him  and  to  fold  him 
Against  her  heart  and  mouth. 

But  far  above  he  sparkled 

And  reigned  from  zone  to  zone ; 

And  far  below  she  darkled, 
Still  loving  him  alone. 

Oh,  weary  was  the  maiden 
When  halted  she  to  rest : 

It  was  the  daemon's  Aidenn, 
And  lovers  there  are  blest. 

For,  weeping  near  a  river, 
She  looked  therein  and  spied 

Her  darling's  glory  quiver 
Beneath  the  crystal  tide. 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  37 

Then  down  the  maiden  fluttered, 

And  never  more  was  seen  ; 
But  daemon  voices  muttered : 

"Below  she  reigns  a  queen." 


XXXIII 

He  found  her  dancing  through  a  glade 
Of  moonlit  turf  and  leafy  shade, 
While  all  around  and  all  above 
Disported  airy,  fairy  forms 
As  thick  as  motes  when  summer  warms 
The  marshy  wold  to  life  and  love. 
Around  the  dancing  elfin  girl 
They  flitted  blythely  to  and  fro 
On  hazy  wings  of  lucent  pearl, 
Now  darting  swift,  now  wheeling  slow, 
As  fitful  breezes  chanced  to  blow, 
Or  crazy  eddies  chanced  to  whirl. 

Aloft,  the  crescent  goddess  flew 
On  slender  wings  of  argent  sheen 
As  though  the  joyous  Fairy  Queen 
Arrived  athwart  the  hollow  blue 
To  find  and  greet  her  devotee. 
Nor  came  alone,  for  every  zone 
Of  sparkling  night  with  daemons  shone, 
The  gods  who  ruled  the  Tyrian  sea 
And  made  their  names  and  glory  known 
To  gay  Hellene  and  grave  Chaldee ; 
While  ever,  through  the  northern  sphere, 
The  boreal  spirits  toiled  to  rear 


38  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

A  paradise  of  throbbing  flame, 

Incessant  tumbling,  yet  the  same, 

So  deftly  wrought  some  magian  name. 


xxxiv 

He  found  her  dancing  like  a  breeze, 
In  raiment  delicate  as  mist 
And  shorter  than  her  dimpled  knees, 
While  lovingly  the  moonlight  kissed 
Her  arms  from  shoulder  down  to  wrist. 

He  found  her  dancing  like  the  seas, 
The  bacchant  seas,  when  tempests  pour 
Their  mighty  music  far  from  shore ; 
When  every  frantic  triton  blows 
His  shell  for  laughing  sprite  and  gnome, 
And  every  billow  naiad  throws 
Abroad  her  draperies  of  foam. 
He  called  her  fiercely,  "Yesebel !" 
For  still  he  greatly  feared  to  see 
The  lurid  entrances  of  Hell. 
She  answered,  singing,  "Come  to  me!" 

He  looked ;  he  saw  the  pearly  teeth, 
The  coral  curl  of  chanting  lips, 
The  ebon  hair  in  tossing  wreath, 
The  levin  glance,  the  bosom's  swell, 
The  rosy  hands  athwart  the  hips, 
The  twinkling  feet,  the  maenad  glee; 
And  all  his  puny  anger  fell, 
A  falling-  star,  to  quick  eclipse. 
No  power  had  he  to  bid  her  nay, 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  39 

No  power  to  turn  and  speed  away, 
But  dazzled  stared  with  panting  breath, 
The  feeblest  man  of  feeble  clay 
That  ever  reeled  in  ways  of  death. 


xxxv 

She  laughed ;   she  kissed  his  golden  head, 
The  while  he  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"There's  not  a  sin  on  earth,"  she  said, 
"Except  the  dreary  sin  of  grief ; 

There's  not  a  holier  thing  than  mirth 

In  all  the  holy  lands  of  earth. 

"The  laughing  gods  of  olden  time, 
The  deities  of  gladsome  men, 

Illume  us,  beckon  us  to  climb 
Afar  from  dogma's  smoky  den, 

Where  bigots  pile  the  cruel  fires 

With  nature's  pleasures,  hopes,  desires. 

Look  upward !     Night  is  all  divine 
For  those  who  tremble  not  to  die. 

Look  upward  !     Jocund  daemons  shine ; 
Olympian  revels  crowd  the  sky. 

Look  up  and  see  what  life  should  be : 

A  godlike  dance  for  me  and  thee! 

And,  ah  my  queen !  my  queen  of  fays ! 

She  lifts  her  shining  arms  above 
The  cloudy  crests,  the  flying  haze 


4O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Of  heavenly  night,  and  bids  to  love, 
The  old,  the  sweet,  the  strong  command, 
So  well  obeyed  in  Elfin  land. 

Dear  goddess  queen !  beneath  thy  glance 
What  gentle  pleas  and  soft  replies, 

What  yearning  lyres  and  tender  chants, 
What  clinging  lips  and  burning  eyes, 

How  many  millions  have  there  been 

Since  thou  hast  reigned,  O  goddess-queen ! 


XXXVI 

She  stopped ;  then  swiftly  caught  his  hands 
And  folded  him  in  coiling  bands, 
An  Eden-serpent,  deadly  sweet 
From  winsome  head  to  lissome  feet. 
Her  snaky  glances  brightly  stole 
Through  his,  and  paralyzed  his  soul. 
She  needed  not  to  murmur  word 
Of  sortilege  or  charm ;   he  heard 
Her  witching  heartbeats  throb  and  seethe 
In  all  his  frame;   he  felt  her  breathe 
Her  sorceries  through  every  vein ; 
He  felt  her  magic  in  his  brain ; 
He  only  gasped  to  suck  perfume ; 
He  drank  her  fragrant,  dazing  bloom ; 
The  draught  was  death  ;  he  drank  his  doom. 

She  saw  him  fall;    she  saw  him  lost; 
She  uttered  not  a  word  of  boast. 
She  saw  her  glamour  win  its  prize, 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  4! 

And  could  not  speak,  except  in  sighs. 
But  triumph  sent  the  pagan  blood 
Athwart  her  face  in  burning  flood, 
And  lit  her  eyes  to  flamings,  while 
She  kissed  him  with  a  syren  smile, 
Victorious,  a  queen  of  guile ! 

A  soul  was  lost,  a  victim  fell 
For  aye  beneath  her  evil  spell, 
Forever  fell  to  worship  sin 
And  whomsoever  rules  therein. 


XXXVII 

Who  never  gazed  with  sparkling  eye 
On  gleam  and  shape  of  fairy  mead ; 
Who  never  saw  the  elfin  sky 
One  moment  glow  like  Heaven  indeed ; 
Who  never  heard  the  lorelei  sing 
Till  all  his  blood  like  lava  ran ; 
I  count  him  but  a  lumpish  thing, 
Not  worth  the  lordly  title,  Man. 

The  weak  behold  the  mighty  fall, 
And,  marvel  how  their  feet  should  slip ; 
The  sheltered  pinnace  tells  the  yawl 
How  ocean  whelmed  the  lofty  ship ; 
The  cripple  keeps  his  blood  and  breath 
\Vhen  battle  lays  the  champion  pale; 
The  ant  surveys  the  lion's  death, 
And  says,  "Behold  me  strong  and  hale!" 
The  daisies  smile  superior 
When  giant  oaks  bestrow  the  plain : 


42  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

They  only  felt  a  zephyr  stir; 
Aloft  it  was  a  hurricane. 

There  never  yet  was  groundling  mole 
That  perished  climbing  peaks  of  snow ; 
There  never  yet  was  pigmy  soul 
That  bore  Promethean  sin  and  woe. 
No  levin  rends  the  fluttering  leaf, 
No  wreck  befalls  the  grubbing  hind, 
No  syren  music  lures  the  deaf, 
No  demon  star  misleads  the  blind ; 
While  he,  the  chief,  the  kingly  one, 
Whose  noble  blood  is  throbbing  fire, 
Wliose  haughty  pinions  seek  the  sun, 
Whose  aim  is  ever  high  and  higher; 
How  often  doth  his  swiftness  drive 
Through  dazing  gleams  or  blinding  glooms  ! 
How  often  must  the  lightning  rive 
His  daring  might  of  splendid  plumes ! 

He  finds  a  more  than  human  grace 
Where  flesh  discovers  flesh  alone; 
He  sees  beyond  the  outer  face, 
He  sees  the  soul  upon  its  throne ; 
He  clothes  another  with  himself, 
And  therefore  finds  her  passing  fair. 
He  sees  the  god  within  the  elf ; 
He  sees  the  fiends  as  once  they  were. 
He  bends  the  knee  where  others  stand, 
Because  he  has  the  second  sight ; 
He  seems  the  fool  of  all  the  land, 
Because  he  loves  with  all  his  might. 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  43 

XXXVIII 

The  story  goes  (who  now  receives 
What  ancient  men  affirmed  on  oath?) 
That  underneath  the  oaken  leaves, 
And  sheltered  by  a  laurel's  blowth, 
Two  lated  urchins,  cold  with  fright, 
Beheld  the  Stygian  revellings, 
The  wood  a  hell  of  lurid  light, 
The  air  a  hell  of  goblin  wings; 
Beheld  their  pastor  madly  whirl 
With  Yesebel  in  Belial's  dance, 
While  all  around  a  wizard  swirl 
Revolved  with  stormy  song  and  prance ; 
Till  lastly  came  a  fearful  shape, 
Beyond  the  ghastliest  thought  of  man, 
A  formless  form  as  black  as  crape, 
With  pinions  reaching  many  a  span ; 
Whereon  these  younkers,  all  agape, 
Displayed  what  spryness  younkers  can, 
And  trundled  off  their  trembling  meat 
To  pious  Shiloh's  drowsy  street. 

The  village  won,  they  yelled  amain 
Till  nightcaps  blanched  each  window  pane, 
Till  lovely  woman  poured  her  shriek 
And  infants  made  the  echoes  speak, 
While  strident  goodman,  plangent  squire 
Responded,  "Murder!  witches!  fire!" 
At  last,  when  every  soul  was  hoarse, 
At  last  the  case  was  understood, 
And  Shiloh  mustered  all  its  force 


44  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

To  march  against  the  wicked  wood, 
Resolved  to  dye  its  steel  in  gore 
Of  wizard  throngs,  and  furthermore 
To  capture  Tophet's  sooty  peers 
And  bind  them  for  a  thousand  years. 


XXXIX 

Now  Downing,  in  his  Thirteenth  Book, 
Relates  in  noble  terms  the  matter. 
"I  kinder  hoped/'  he  says,  "to  cook 
The  goose  of  Satan  to  a  tatter. 
We  had  a  hundred  men,  about, 
With  twenty  wagon-loads  of  ladies, 
Besides  a  whappin'  younker  rout 
An'  hounds  enough  to  pin  all  Hades. 
I  sent  the  bacheldors  ahead, 
With  orders  strict  to  keep  a-wabblin', 
Expectin'  soon  to  hear  their  lead 
A-whizzin'  through  a  yowpin'  goblin. 

"But  common  men,  as  ginrals  know 
Are  ruther  peaceful  kind  of  cattle, 
An'  allays  travel  pesky  slow 
Whenever  they  go  forth  to  battle. 
Afore  we'd  journeyed  very  fur 
Or  Nipton's  flames  begun  to  blind  us, 
I  found  that  every  skirmisher 
Was  forty  rod  or  more  behind  us. 
Thereon  I  formed  my  army  front 
Accordin'  to  the  law  of  natur : 
The  women  first,  to  ketch  the  brunt ; 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  45 

The  chaps  who'd  want  to  save  'em,  later. 
The  better-halves  an'  gals,  you  ken, 
Might  use  the  shays  for  battle-chariots ; 
An  that  would  stir  the  married  men, 
An'  cheer  the  bacheldor  Iscariots. 

"The  line  was  purty  chirk  at  last, 
Especially  the  dogs  an'  bosses, 
An'  rattled  forrard  middlin'  fast, 
Considerin'  the  stumps  an'  mosses, 
Till  finally  we  nighed  the  grove 
Where  Satan's  deacons  cut  their  capers, 
All  lookin'  monstrous  hot  above,    • 
As  though  the  twigs  were  burnin'  tapers. 
I  ranked  my  wagons  thill  to  thill, 
An'  give  the  word  to  whip  tremendous ; 
Then,  whack,  we  cantered  up  the  hill 
As  fast  as  hoofs  an'  wheels  could  send  us. 

XL 

"We  reached  the  top.     You  never  saw 
A  spot  like  that  for  signs  an'  wonders : 
The  turf  ablaze  like  kindled  straw, 
The  oaks  a-spittin'  sparks  an'  thunders, 
The  lanskip  glarin'  all  around, 
The  air  alive  with  spooks  an'  devils, 
While  crowds  of  witches  sot  the  ground 
A-teeter  with  their  stompin'  revels ; 
All  guarded  by  a  dragon's  rolls 
Of  slimy  scales  an*  tail  enormous, 
Who  snorted  ovens-full  of  coals, 
An'  blew  'em  ragin'  hot  to  warm  us. 


46  THE    DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

"But,  most  astonishin'  to  tell, 
I  spied  our  lately  wusshupt  parson, 
Both  arms  around  our  Yesebel, 
A-jiggin'  through  the  fire  an'  arson; 
Both  steppin'  out  at  sech  a  pace, 
So  dandified  an'  swift  an'  supple, 
With  sech  a  gladness  in  the  face, 
I  couldn't  help  admire  the  couple. 
They  kinder  seemed  like  king  an'  queen : 
I  never  saw  a  gal  no  sweeter : 
Her  cheeks  a-fiush,  her  glances  keen : 
All  Shiloh  couldn't  show  her  beater. 
She  flew  like  any  busy  bee; 
There  warn't  another  jade  went  past  her  ; 
Yit  seemed  to  me  the  parson  he 
Could  foot  it  off  a  leetle  faster. 
He  had  a  sort  of  unkshus  slide : 
You  saw  him,  then  you  couldn't  find  him 
He  squelched  the  spryest  wizard's  pride, 
An'  left  the  peartest  imps  behind  him. 


XLI 

"But  while  I  stood  with  jaws  apart, 
A-gogglin'  at  those  hansome  critters, 
My  army  got  a  trifle  scart 
An'  suddintly  went  all  to  fritters; 
For  when  the  hosses  smelt  the  dragon, 
An'  when  the  ladies  fairly  saw  it, 
Away  went  every  tarnal  wagon 
As  fast  as  dobbin's  legs  could  draw  it; 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  47 

An'  clost  behind,  with  howl  an'  whine, 
Dogs,  younkers,  single  men  an'  married, 
The  fastest,  loudest  drove  of  swine 
That  ever  Tophet's  legion  harried. 

"The  only  one  who  stuck  it  through 
Was  Esther  Anne,  my  faithful  daughter. 
God  bless  her!     Downing  grit  is  true, 
An'  Downing  blood  is  thicker  'n  water. 
She  wouldn't  dodge  the  pesky  ventur, 
Though  right  ahead  stood  Hell  embattled, 
An',  jerry-go-lang!  for  Shiloh  centre 
Those  wagons  of  salvation  rattled. 
She  went  beside  me  through  the  scrimmage 
Without  the  smell  of  fire  upon  her, 
For  Satan's  impotent  to  damage 
A  maiden  clad  in  grace  an'  honor. 

"Well,  right  away  the  fight  begun, 
The  devils  spoutin'  smoke  an'  flashes, 
I  bangin'  with  my  duckin'  gun, 
An'  blowin'  some  to  dust  an'  ashes. 
The  forest  glimmered  red  an'  black 
With  fizzin'  fire  an'  sooty  cinders ; 
The  noise  was  loud  enough  to  crack 
In  flinders  forty  thousen'  winders. 
In  short,  t'was  jest  the  roughest  tussle, 
The  toughest  muss  for  roars  an'  blazes, 
That  ever  taxed  old  Downing's  muscle 
An'  scart  him  into  prayers  an'  praises. 


48  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 


XLII 

"Considerin'  their  cause  was  bad, 
The  goblins  nobly  used  their  chances, 
An'  where  the  dragon  led  they  had 
A  sneakin'  hope  to  make  advances. 
That  dragon  give  me  special  fits : 
He  scorched  an'  baked  an'  fried  an'  roasted 
He  smelted  both  my  eppylets 
An'  left  my  uniform  well  toasted. 
I  couldn't  dodge  the  creetur's  aim, 
Though  peart  at  dodgin'  as  an  otter ; 
An'  every  time  he  blazed,  the  flame 
Appeared  to  me  a  trifle  hotter. 
At  last,  as  flints  were  gittin'  few 
An'  nawthin'  seemed  to  come  of  shootin', 
I  thought  I'd  try  an  interview 
Upon  a  more  familiar  footin'. 

"The  sword  of  Gideon  I  drawed, 
An'  went  for  Granther  Dragon's  jacket. 
The  monster  smoked  an'  blazed  an'  clawed, 
But   found   he   couldn't   stand   the   racket. 
His  scales  an'  buttons  flew  around ; 
His  trotters  wabbled  sorter  limber ; 
He  winced  an'  whimpered  like  a  hound; 
His  afterparts  were  all  a-kimber. 
Then  suddintly  an  awful  glare 
Ascended  swishin'  through  the  branches ; 
The  cuss  had  scooted  for  his  lair 
With  all  his  devils  at  his  haunches. 
You  never  saw  a  garden  toad 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  49 

So  lively  in  a  shingle-whackin' ; 

I  jest  remarked  that  somethin'  glowed, 

An'  then  his  majesty  was  lackin'. 


XLIII 

"But  I  had  nary  time  to  laugh 
While  any  warlock  stayed,  or  wizard ; 
I  thrashed  my  harvest  into  chaff, 
An'  spelt  my  stent  from  A  to  Izzard. 
I  strowed  the  country  right  an'  left 
With  Tophet's  elders  an'  exhorters, 
With  damaged  prophets,  powwows  cleft, 
An'  necromancers  carved  in  quarters. 
The  very  whiteoaks  couldn't  hold 
Agin  the  slash  of  Downing's  whinyard; 
I  ravaged  all  that  haunted  wold 
As  Ahab  ravaged  Naboth's  vineyard. 
I  didn't  leave  a  trunk  unchopped ; 
The  rubbidge  covered  several  acres, 
An'  everywhere  the  wizards  dropped 
In  urgent  need  of  undertakers. 
The  hill  is  higher  far  than  'twas 
Before  I  laid  the  woodland  level, 
An'  schollards  dig  there  teeth  an'  claws 
As  old  an'  ugly  as  the  devil. 

"But  still,  alas!  I  couldn't  do 
A  Shiloh  soldier's  perfect  duty; 
I  failed  to  run  Apollos  through, 
An'  save  my  little  gipsy  beauty, 
They  whipped  about  at  lightnin'  pace, 


5O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Onsartin,  like  a  firefly's  glitter, 

The  parson  smirkin'  in  my  face, 

The  lassie  blushin',  all  a-titter. 

They  sparkled  there,  they  fluttered  here, 

They  glimpsed  along  from  nook  to  cover. 

Betimes  they  capered  purty  near, 

An'  roundabout  my  head  would  hover. 

But  finally  there  came  a  glare 

Of  fiery  claws  and  flamy  pinions, 

That  hustled  them,  I  s'pose,  to  where 

Apollyon  snarls  among  his  minions." 


XLIV 

Thus  Downing  saw  them,  sturdy  child 
Of  common  sense,  who  found  no  grace 
In  dazzling  sin,  or  soul  beguiled, 
In  demon  plume,  or  fairy  face; 
Who  saw  the  earthly  husk  of  things, 
And  saw  the  earthly  husk  alone, 
Nor  guessed  a  grub  has  hidden  wings, 
Nor  guessed  the  gem  within  the  stone; 
Who  held  the  ancient  virtues  sjn, 
The  hoary  creeds  bedeviled  tales, 
Nor  found  a  gleam  of  glory  in 
The  names  that  ruled  Elysian  vales ; 
To  whom  the  pearly  sylphs  were  black, 
The  syren's  lilt  a  doleful  scream, 
The  fairies  but  a  vampire  pack, 
And  poesy  a  wicked  dream. 


THE    WITCH    OF    SHILOH.  51 

Thus  Downing  saw  this  fated  pair 
Who  sought  to  princes  of  the  wind ; 
Who  found  each  other  deadly  fair, 
And  therefore  loved,  and  therefore  sinned. 
He  saw  them  smitten ;   hurried  swift 
As  lightning  through  a  fiery  rift 
Of  Eblis;    souls  of  driven  flame 
That  agonized  from  sin  to  shame ; 
Apostate  angels,  tempest-tost ; 
Extinguished  stars,  forever  lost. 


XLV 

But  Esther  saw  with  other  eyes, 
For  sorrow  knows  the  second-sight ; 
And  loving  souls,  though  clad  in  white, 
Behold  with  love's  alert  surmise. 
She  saw  them  soaring  hand  in  hand, 
Their  glances  mingled,  eye  to  eye, 
Their  breath  commingled,  sigh  to  sigh, 
Like  creatures  born  of  Paphian  land, 
Who  held  each  other  far  too  dear 
To  question  whether  Eden's  strand 
They  neared,  or  Hell's  Cimmerian  mere. 

She  saw  them  floating,  far  above, 
On  beaming  clouds  of  delicate  lawn, 
Around  them  many  a  kissing  dove 
And  dovelike  spirit,  winged  with  love, 
Who  guided  them  to  meet  the  dawn 
As  tenderly  as  angels  guide 
Forgiven  souls  through  Heaventide. 


52  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

Adown  the  kindling  East  they  shone; 
And  there,  a  welkin's  width  away, 
They  lingered  glorious ;    seemed  to  stay 
One  breath  upon  a  dazzling  throne ; 
One  moment  reigned ;   then  sudden  fell 
For  aye ;  while  Esther  wept,  "Farewell !" 


THE 
LAST  OF  THE  WAMPANOAGS 


II 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  WAMPANOAGS 

i 

It  was  a  time  of  bloody  strife 
Between  the  Baldybird  and  Lion, 
And  woful  plagues  were  sorely  rife 
In  every  nook  of  Freedom's  Zion : 
A  plague  of  Britishers  and  Hessians, 
A  plague  of  tarred  and  feathered  traitors, 
Of  powwow  dances,  witch  possessions 
And  Mingos  fierce  as  alligators. 

It  was  the  nation-building  time 
That  freed  Americans  of  fetters, 
And  garred  them  grace  in  prose  or  rhyme 
To  say  they  never  met  their  betters; 
When,  startling  Shiloh's  single  street, 
Appeared  a  pale  and  eager  rider, 
His  courser  reeling  through  the  heat, 
His  raiment  dusty  as  a  spider 
Who  halted  near  a  visage  fair 
That  blushed  behind  a  window  lattice, 
And  faltered,  "Lady,  tell  me  where 
Abides  New  England's  Cincinnatus." 

ii 

She  pointed  out  a  modest  cot, 
Bedight  with  shingled  porch  and  gable, 
And,  close  behind,  a  garden  lot 


56  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  roomy  barn  and  airy  stable. 
A  well  and  woodpile  graced  a  yard 
Where  hum  of  beehives,  honey-laden, 
And  bustling  whirs  of  spinning  jarred 
Through  drowsy  hymns  of  a  rosy  maiden. 

Beyond  declined  a  dimpled  run 
Of  ploughing  land  and  wood  and  meadow 
Where  gladsome  corn  revered  the  sun 
And  thankful  kine  reposed  in  shadow: 
A  Shiloh  farm  of  knobs  and  wales 
Without  a  lonely  level  acre, 
But  choicely  rimmed  with  chestnut  rails 
And  kept  as  clean  as  any  Quaker. 

There  dwelt  our  solar  prototype 
When  duty  did  not  send  him  shining 
To  give  the  Lion's  tail  a  gripe 
And  set  the  Unicorn  a-whining. 
Beside  his  grindstone  Downing  stood, 
In  shirtsleeves  moiling,  as  he  wonted, 
To  keen  anew  his  sabre's  mood, 
But  lately  sorely  gapped  and  blunted 
In  slicing  various  Tory  knaves 
Who  came  by  night  to  burn  and  pillage, 
And  drive  our  fathers  off  for  slaves, 
And  make  an  end  of  Shiloh  village. 


in 

The  rider  halted,  hat  in  hand. 
"My  name,"  he  said,  "is  Captain  Speeder, 
And  I  arrive  with  haught  command 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  57 

From  Putnam,  our  illustrious  leader. 
He  bade  me  find  you,  bade  me  say 
That  things  are  faring  worse  than  sadly 
With  those  who  hold  the  righteous  way, 
While  Satan's  kingdom  prospers  madly. 

''Briton  nor  Hessian  hurts  us  now, 
Nor  lurking  brave,  nor  sneaking  Tory ; 
For  we  can  front  them  brow  to  brow 
And  hurl  aback  their  fiercest  foray. 
It  is  a  girl,  a  buxom  jade, 
An  Indian  witch,  a  powwow's  daughter, 
Who  makes  Columbia's  soul  afraid 
And  lures  her  mighty  ones  to  slaughter. 
She  glides  about  our  camp  by  night, 
Adroit  in  magic,  strong  in  beauty, 
And  slays  the  sentinel  outright, 
Or  wiles  him  from  the  beat  of  duty. 
Yea,  none  resist  her  cunning  lure; 
The  veteran  renowned  in  battle, 
The  officer  we  counted  sure, 
All  follow  her  like  silly  cattle; 
And  those  who  perish  not  reveal 
Our  plans  to  whatsoever  human ; 
In  sort  that  Freedom  seems  to  reel 
Before  the  malice  of  a  woman. 

"You  knowv  of  Ethan  Allen ;  know 
His  faithfulness  beyond  suspicion ; 
And  know  how  many  a  stalwart  foe 
His  arm  has  pitched  to  hot  perdition. 
He  too  is  gone;   he  went  at  dawn 
With  many  oaths  to  slay  the  maiden ; 


58  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  that  is  all  we  know;   he's  gone, 
Though  scarcely  gone,  wre  think  to  Eden." 


IV 

So  far  the  captain  spake.     But  here 
The  hero  thundered  forth  his  sorrow. 

"Go  tell  the  ginral,  never  fear; 
I'll  follow  Ethan's  trail  to-morrow. 
What !     Allen  gone,  the  peartest  soul 
That  bore  aloft  our  Yankee  banners ! 
How  oft  I've  heerd  his  curses  roll 
In  battle's  front,  like  glad  hosanners ! 
How  often  laughed  to  see  him  roar 
An'  caper  'round  a  giant  Briton, 
Then  smite  him  hip  an'  thigh  before 
I  guessed  the  side  he  meanter  hit  on ! 
I'll  follow  him,  and  save  him,  too. 
If  he  abides  in  airthly  regions ; 
If  not,  I'll  make  it  awful  blue 
In  hell  for  Satan's  murky  legions. 

"But  first  I  ought  to  find  the  maid 
Who  keeps  our  Baldybird  in  trouble. 
An'  let  her  know  that  Gideon's  blade 
Can  mow  Apollyon's  crap  to  stubble. 
I've  often  heerd  of  her  afore, 
Unless  my  memory's  in  error; 
Her  granther  was  a  sagamore, 
King  Metacom,  New  England's  terror. 
I  think  (if  she  is  young  an'  fair) 
That  Downing  wouldn't  like  to  hurt  her, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  59 

But  ruther  feel  disposed  to  spare, 
An'  do  his  peartest  to  convert  her. 
At  all  events,  I'll  scurry  west 
At  once,  to  bag  her,  or  to  try  it. 
But  now  dismount  an'  take  a  rest, 
An'  try  a  Yankee  farmer's  diet." 

The  captain  bowed.     "I  may  not  stay ; 
My  duty  is  to  bear  your  message." 
He  bowed  again,  and  rode  away, 
As  swift  as  prairie  horse-expressage. 


"Then  Downing"   (here  we  quote  his  book) 
"Sot  down  an'  made  a  hearty  dinner; 
For  Esther  was  a  faithful  cook, 
An'  had  her  mother's  cunning  in  her. 
Besides,  I  allays  find  that  I 
Can  fight  my  best  on  stacks  of  rations ; 
An'  that's  the  strategy  whereby 
The  British  lick  their  neighbor  nations. 
Besides,  I  crammed  my  havresack 
With  pork  an'  beans  an'  codfish  salted, 
In  order  that  I  mightn't  lack 
A  Yankee  supper  when  I  halted. 

"Of  course  I  wore  my  uniform, 
With  eppylets  an'  hat  an'  feather, 
Because  the  cloth  is  extry  warm 
An'  proof  agin  the  wettest  weather. 
My  trooper  pistils,  one  inch  bore, 
Hefty  enough  to  knock  down  cattle, 
An'  sabre,  three  foot  long  or  more, 


60  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

Made  out  my  armyment  for  battle. 

So  fixed,  upon  my  mare  I  got, 

An'  flung  a  good-bye  kiss  to  Esther; 

She  prayed  a  leetle  on  the  spot, 

An'  I,  though  not  religious,  blest  her. 


VI 

"Then  off  I  started,  sou-by-west, 
Through  swarmin'  borough,  town  an'  village ; 
For  old  Connecticut  is  blest 
With  livelier  craps  than  those  of  tillage. 
An'  everywhere  I  went  or  come 
The  people  gathered  by  the  thousen; 
I  tell  ye  they  were  nowise  dumb 
When  Downing  cantered  past  their  housen. 
In  ginral,  though,  I'm  pleased  to  say, 
The  grown-up  men  were  off  to  slarter, 
An'  those  who  whooped  me  on  my  way 
Were  wife  an'  granny,  lad  an1  darter. 

*'A  week  I  traveled,  all  afire; 
Then  duly  halted  over  Sunday, 
Attended  meetin',  sung  in  choir, 
An'  started  out  refreshed  o'  Monday, 
At  last  I  sighted,  on  a  hill, 
The  Yankee  banners  all  a-quiver; 
An'  found  a  sentry,  squattin'  still 
An'  watchin'  'crost  a  shady  river, 
I  sent  him  with  the  mare  to  camp, 
An'  took  his  beat,  an'  done  his  duty; 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  6 1 

For  day  was  puttin'  out  his  lamp, 
An'  soon  I  might  expect  the  beauty." 

VII 

No  zephyr  stirred  the  mellow  calm, 
No  footfall  strolled  amid  the  night ; 
The  air  was  drenched  with  humid  balm 
Of  forest  blooms ;  a  droning  flight 
Of  insects  fretted  on  the  ear, 
As  though  the  ancient  Baal-  of  gnats 
And  flies  were  holding  revel  near. 

Aloft,  a  fitful  rush  of  bats 
Careered  on  lean  and  sticky  wings, 
While  fireflies  hasted  through  the  grass 
Like  travelers  lost  and  mad  with  fear. 
The  air  was  full  of  songs  and  stings 
And  rustlings;   serpents  seemed  to  pass 
From  tuft  to  tuft  of  underwood : 
One  might  believe  the  wizard  brood 
Had  taken  shapes  of  beastly  things 
And  swarmed  to  meet  in  hellish  mass. 

Below,  the  river  ran  like  ink, 
A  stagnant,  silent,  stygian  stream, 
Funereal-palled  from  brink  to  brink 
By  giant  trees.     A  single  gleam 
Of  spectral  moonlight  wandered  through, 
And  showed  against  the  oozy  brae 
A  silver-gleaming  birch  canoe, 
A  boat  for  scouts  to  cross  the  wave 
And  gather  food,  or  seek  affray 
With  Tory  thief  or  Mingo  brave. 


62  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

VIII 

Our  hero,  careful  lest  a  ball 
Might  find  him  from  the  other  shore, 
Descended  creeping,  reached  the  yawl 
And  laid  his  length  upon  its  floor. 
Recumbent  there,  with  visage  darkened, 
His  heavy  pistols  cocked  for  strife, 
His  breath  suppressed,  he  slyly  harkened 
And  peeped  for  signs  of  hostile  life. 

Betimes  a  drowsy  drone  he  heard 
Of  plunging  waters,  far  below  ; 
Or  was  it  but  a  thrumming  bird 
In  dozing  terror?     Who  can  know? 
For  hours  he  listened  thus ;   and  then 
Perhaps  he  slept ;  he  never  told. 
There  come  awearied  moments  when 
The  sentry  nods,  though  good  as  gold. 

At  last  he  roused  himself — perchance 
From  revery — perchance  from  dream ; 
He  raised  his  head  and  threw  a  glance 
About  him;    then  across  the  stream. 
Diana,  hunting  high  in  night, 
Sent  arrows  through  the  forest  ranks 
That  feathered  half  the  flood  with  light 
And  filigreed  the  curving  banks ; 
And  there,  amid  the  elfin  sheen, 
He  spied  an  Indian  maiden  kneel,* 
Who  plied  a  paddle,  dimly  seen, 

*  The  birch-bark  canoe  is  paddled  kneeling. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  63 

And  urged  along  a  spectral  keel. 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again ; 

He  thought  to  see  her  fade  away ; 

But  soon  a  glorious  argent  vein 

Of  moonlight  showed  her  clear  as  day. 


IX 

Then  Downing  knew  that  death  was  near 
He  knew  the  witch,  her  errand  knew ; 
Yet  quickly  made  his  shallop  veer 
To  meet  her  wizard-built  canoe. 

Ah !  perilous  she  was  to  greet 
As  ocean  maid,  or  forest  fay, 
Or  lorelei  singing  deadly-sweet, 
Or  Circe  smiling  sense  away. 
Her  cheek  was  brown,  but  fervid  bloom 
Of  roses  flushed  its  dimpled  grace; 
Her  hair  was  black  as  raven's  plume, 
And  veiled  with  magic  half  her  face. 
Her  form  was  slender,  round  and  tall, 
And  shapely  were  the  arms  that  twined 
From  side  to  side,  and  drove  her  yawl 
To  meet  the  foeman  of  her  kind. 

She  smiled  upon  him.     Oh,  that  smile! 
What  viper  hath  such  deadly  guile ! 
It  seemed  the  joyous  friendliness 
Of  childhood,  innocent  of  ill ; 
It  had  a  lovelorn  tenderness, 
And  yet  its  longing  was  to  kill. 


64  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 


They  met  and  passed ;  in  vain  he  sought 
To  clutch  her  while  she  skimmed  anear ; 
She  whirled  her  paddle  quick  as  thought, 
And  sent  her  feathery  pinnace  clear, 
Then  turned  the  prowr  adown  the  flow 
And  paddled  gently,  flinging  back 
Such  smiles  as  love  alone  should"  throw, 
To  lure  him  down  her  fatal  track. 

He  followed  where  her  witchery  led, 
He  went  like  one  with  frenzied  head, 
He  seemed  a  man  as  good  as  dead : 
His  only  longing  was  to  seize, 
To  clutch  and  carry  her  away, 
No  matter  where,  no  matter  why ; 
And  so  he  bent  him  on  his  knees, 
And  made  his  paddle  madly  play, 
And  flew  like  one  who  longs  to  die. 

Now  came  a  throbbing,  reeling  strife 
For  mastery  in  speed;    the  blades 
Incessant  leaped  to  swifter  life; 
And  through  the  river's  lights  and  shades, 
Forever  quickening,  hissed  the  skiffs. 
The  rippling  pools  and  bays  retired  ; — 
The  lofty  landmarks — hills  and  cliffs ; 
And  still  the  panting  rowers  fired 
Their  madding  hearts  to  fiercer  race ; 
While  aye  the  maiden  backward  cast 
The  elfin  glamor  of  her  face, 
And  seemed  to  beckon,  "Follow  fast!" 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  65 

XI 

For  miles  the  nimble  paddles  flew, 
Implacable  and  strong  and  true 
As  eagle  wings  athwart  the  blue ; 
For  miles  they  traversed  gloom  and  sheen 
With  scarce  a  fathom-length  between 
The  Yankee  chief  and  forest-queen. 

Yet  aye  a  distant,  surly  drone, 
(The  growl  of  some  torrential  leap 
Adown  a  cyclopean  steep) 
Approached  and  rolled  in  grimmer  tone. 
At  last  it  poured  a  lion  roar; 
It  seemed  to  clamor,  "Turn  or  die!" 
But  still  the  maiden  plied  her  oar, 
And  still  the  chaser  followed  nigh. 
He  felt  the  current's  quickening  swirl, 
He  knew  how  near  he  was  to  drown ; 
But  yet  he  hoped  to  clutch  the  girl 
Before  destruction  sucked  him  down. 

Eftsoon  he  spied,  not  far  away 
Beneath  the  gleam  of  Ashtaroth, 
A  lofty,  glorious  ghost  of  spray, 
Spanning  the  river's  tossing  froth; 
And  underneath  its  mighty  plumes — 
Distinct  against  the  further  glooms — 
A  burnished  edge  of  fleeting  steel, 
The  cataract's  awful  downward  wheel. 


66  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XII 

He  paused  a  breath.     The  lorelei  flung 
A  gesture  back.     Again  he  wrought, 
And  tow'rd  the  watery  Eblis  sprung 
Without  another  doubting  thought. 
Then  came  the  rush.     He  glanced  before. 
The  maiden  stood  with  folded  arms, 
Upright  amid  the  seethe  and  roar, 
And  turned  upon  him  all  her  charms. 
Her  eyes  like  costly  jewels  shone, 
And  dazed  his  vision  even  then ; 
Her  face  was  Circe's  very  own, 
A  face  to  dazzle  dying  men. 
But  weirdly  was  it  changed  in  style ; 
It  looked  the  visage  of  a  Fate. 
She  smiled,  but  now  it  was  a  smile 
Of  cruel  triumph,  burning  hate. 

He  saw  her  thus,  but  all  too  late, 
For  then  he  saw  her  swiftly  sink, 
And  he  alone  was  on  the  brink. 
He  followed  down  the  mad  descent 
With  but  a  single  hasty  prayer— 
A  gasp  for  mercy;   down  he  went 
A  hundred  feet  through  mist  and  air ; 
And  downward  still ;  the  boiling  billow 
Received  him,  clutched  him,  hurled  him  swift 
Along  the  rapid's  bubbly  drift, 
As  helpless  as  a  wisp  of  willow. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  67 

XIII 

He  drove,  he  never  knew  how  long, 
The  sport  of  water-sprites  and  gholes. 
Gay  bells  he  heard,  delicious  song, 
And  tinkling  zithers  all  aquiver, 
The  sounds  that  ravish  drowning  souls, 
The  lorelei  strains  of  Charon's  river. 

He  thought  of  death  and  hell  and  heaven ; 
Betimes  he  thought  his  soul  had  crossed 
The  bounds  of  death  to  float  unshriven, 
Unseen  of  God,  forgotten,  lost; 
And  then  he  hurtled,  fiercely  driven 
Through  sundered  whirlpools,  surges  riven, 
Aloft  to  gladsome  regions  where 
Careered  the  breeze  and  beamed  the  moon. 
He  swam  by  instinct,  scarce  aware 
That  he  was  living  yet ;    but  soon 
The  life  returned  to  brain  and  breath ; 
He  longed  to  live ;   he  flouted  death. 

He  saw  himself  anear  the  shore, 
Though  down  the  river  still  he  flew; 
His  fingers  gripped  a  broken  oar, 
And  near  him  tossed  a  wrecked  canoe. 
The  speeding  flood  was  white  and  rude 
With  frothy  whirl  and  bubbly  curl ; 
The  flood  was  all  a  solitude, 
And  vanished  was  the  wizard  girl. 


68  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XIV 

So  ended  Downing's  first  endeavor 
To  catch  the  Wampanoag  maid ; 
He  fared  as  mortals  fare  forever 
In  chasing  lorelei,  nymph  and  naiad ; 
He  found  the  business  wondrous  dripping, 
And  much  in  need  oi  first-rate  shipping. 
But  even  while  he  splashed  for  shore 
He  heard  the  clarion  call  of  duty; 
He  raised  his  dexter  fist  and  swore 
To  still  pursue  the  heathen  beauty ; 
Pursue  and  find  her,  though  she  stole 
For  hiding-place  to  stygian  regions ; 
Convert  her  yet  and  save  her  soul 
From  Pandemonium's  cunning  legions. 
So  ever  west,  with  patient  labor, 
His  pistols  slung  about  his  waist, 
And  dragging  twenty  pounds  of  sabre, 
Through  boundless  leafy  lands  he  paced ; 
Because  he  thought  an  Indian  maiden 
And  specially  an  eldritch  thing, 
Would  fly  to  countries  forest-laden 
Where  solitude  as  yet  was  king. 

At  last  he  reached  a  lordly  current, 
The  Genesee  of  modern  day, 
Which  flung  a  swift  and  massive  torrent 
Adown  a  ravine  veiled  in  spray. 
He  halted  there  for  food  and  slumber, 
A  mile  or  more  above  the  roar, 
And  made  a  fragile  float  of  lumber, 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  69 

And  fitted  it  with  mast  and  oar; 
Because,  he  judged,  the  wizard  lady, 
Would  hope  to  ambuscade  him  there, 
And  come  when  all  was  still  and  shady 
To  spread  a  net  and  find  a  snare. 

xv 

He  watched  ;  she  came ;  he  saw  her  glimmer 
Athwart  the  mellow  dusk  of  night. 
He  saw  her  birchen  paddle  shimmer, 
And  dash  the  foam  to  left  and  right. 
Through  veiling  leaves  he  knew  the  splendor 
That  brimmed  her  eyes  and  flushed  her  face, 
The  rounded  figure,  tall  and  slender, 
The  sway  and  gest  of  savage  grace. 

He  launched  his  float ;  he  never  waited 
To  let  her  pass  and  choose  her  way ; 
He  felt  that  every  breath  was  fated, 
And  he  must  leap  to  win  his  prey. 
He  gained  the  middle  stream  before  her, 
And  paused  above  the  waterfall ; 
Then  drew  his  pistol,  aimed  it  o'er  her, 
And  bade  her  halt  or  meet  his  ball. 
And  yet  he  purposed  nothing  evil, 
His  heart  was  kinder  than  his  guise ; 
He  only  meant  to  cheat  the  devil, 
He  only  meant  to  civilize. 

XVI 

The  maiden  stopped  and  gazed  about  her, 
As  undecided  how  to  act. 


7O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

How  could  she  give  her  foe  to  slaughter 

Unless  she  reached  the  cataract? 

But  soon  a  guileful  thought  befriended — 

A  shift  of  Indian  stratagem; 

Her  ready  paddle  she  extended, 

And  up  the  river  turned  her  stem. 

No  doubt  she  hoped  to  see  him  wrestle 

In  vain  against  the  torrent's  sweep, 

And  founder  like  an  iron  pestle, 

Or  take  alone  the  awful  leap. 

Away  she  flitted  up  the  crystal 

Descent  of  ripples,  glinting  by ; 

In  vain  our  hero  leveled  pistol 

And  sent  a  warning  bullet  nigh. 

He  saw  her  'scape ;   in  vain  he  followed, 
Or  strove  to  follow,  where  she  hied ; 
His  clumsy  float  of  timbers  wallowed 
And  slowly  slipped  aclown  the  tide. 
Afar  he  saw  the  witch  skedaddle 
Through  shade  and  moonlight  intertwined, 
And  cursed  the  deftness  of  her  paddle, 
And  cursed  the  cunning  of  her  kind. 
All  night  he  fought  with  demon  billows, 
And  only  when  the  morn  arose, 
He  reached  a  verdant  bank  of  willows, 
And  dumbly  dropped,  and  found  repose. 

An  hour  he  slumbered ;   so  he  reckoned ; 
And  then,  ashamed  of  sluggard  rest, 
Arose  to  speed  where  duty  beckoned 
Athwart  the  everlasting  West. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS. 
XVII 

Ere  many  days  he  heard  a  roar 
As  though  an  angel  stood  before, 
An  angel  of  the  judgment-day, 
Who  made  his  awful  trumpet  bray, 
Commanding  time  to  be  no  more. 

It  was  Niagara,  the  strong, 
The  indescribable,  the  grand, 
Fulfilling  all  surrounding  land 
With  its  amazing  thunder-song, 
And  lifting  such  a  lofty  pyre 
Of  mists  as  though  the  seraph  hosts 
And  multitude  of  sainted  ghosts 
Had  truly  gathered  there  in  choir ; 
While  over  all — above  the  flow 
Of  emerald  oceans  leaping  swift — 
Above  the  spectral  folds  and  drift — 
Abode  the  sevenfold-tinted  bow. 

No  marvel  he  whose  wond'ring  eyes 
Beheld  this  otherworldly  scene, 
Discovered  nothing  there  terrene, 
But  solely  thought  of  Paradise, 
Of  seraphim  with  blinding  wings, 
Of  pearly  gates  and  precious  stones 
Too  bright  for  earthly  diadem ; 
Yea,  thought  of  all  immortal  things 
That  dazzle,  souls  of  pardoned  ones 
In  God's  supreme  Jerusalem. 


72  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XVIII 

And,  gazing  thus,  the  fancy  came 
That  here,  where  God  appeared  to  sit, 
And  earth  resounded  to  His  name, 
No  evil  sprite  would  dare  to  flit  ; 
And  one  might  find  a  shady  knoll 
Of  rest  for  travel-wearied  soul, 
And  there,  recumbent,  watch  the  leap 
Of  waters  down  the  giant  steep; 
Or  slumber  tranquilly  as  man 
Reposed  when  Tellus  first  began, 
Ere  Satan  crossed  the  slough  of  Chaos 
And  brought  his  grisly  son  to  slay  us. 

But  this  was  error;   had  he  dozed, 
His  haught  career  had  doubtless  closed  ; 
For  while  he  sought  a  sightly  mound, 
His  hunter  ear  discerned  a  sound 
Far  different  from  plunging  water  — 
A  clamor  eloquent  of  slaughter. 
He  heard  a  noise  of  singing  men, 
And  peering  down  a  sunny  glen. 
Enclosed  by  rustling  curves  of  thicket, 
He  spied  a  score  of  painted  braves, 
A  bloody  gang  of  Mingo  knaves, 

as  nai~d  as  the    could  kick  it. 


XIX 

Our  hero  needed  but  a  glance 
To  recognize  the  scalping  dance, 
For  right  amid  the  stamping  throng 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS. 

Of  savage  revelers,  there  hung 
A  dozen  scalps  of  Saxon  hair 
Bestained  with  deadly  clots  of  red, 
And  one  with  tresses  flaxen-fair, 
A  trophy  torn  from  woman's  head. 

The  sight  was  pitiful ;   he  thought 
Of  happy  hamlets  whelmed  in  flame, 
Of  gladsome  hearts  to  anguish  brought, 
Of  cord  and  torture,  death  and  shame ; 
Yea,  thought  of  all  the  griefs  and  ghosts 
That  rilled  those  yelping  mouths  with  boasts. 
One  thought  of  sorrow ;   then  another 
Of  wrath ;  he  swore  to  stop  the  breath 
Of  every  red-skin  man  and  brother 
Who  vaunted  forth  that  song  of  death. 

But  he  was  one,  and  they  were  twenty ; 
How  could  he  strive  at  even  betting? 
His  pistol-balls  were  far  from  plenty, 
His  sabre  dull  with  rust  of  wetting. 
He  saw  that  only  Yankee  cunning 
Could  beat  the  herd  of  Bashan  cattle, 
And  strategy  must  set  them  running 
Before  he  ventured  closer  battle. 
So,  while  the  mighty  river  thundered, 
And  bragging  Mingos  yelled  like  lawyers, 
Our  hero  called  to  mind  a  hundred 
Bushfighting  tricks  of  Indian  warriors. 

xx 

"At  last"  (thus  read  his  Commentaries) 
"I,  Downing,  rose  upon  my  trotters, 


74  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

An'  shoved  aside  the  leaves  an'  berries, 
An'  hollered  louder  than  the  waters. 
They  kinder  harked,  an'  stopt  their  dancin/ 
An'  sorter  made  a  start  to  foller ; 
But  while  they  puzzled  I  was  prancin' 
To  git  another  hole  to  holler. 
I  found  it,  an'  agin  I  hooted, 
This  time,  I  reckon,  rather  louder; 
Then  squatted  clost  an'  softly  scooted 
Along  the  brushwood  quicker'n  powder. 
An'  so  from  pint  to  pint  I  bellered 
Enough  to  shake  Apollyon's  courage, 
An'  every  time  I  done  it,  mellered 
Their  sposhy  hearts  to  softer  porridge. 
I  watched  'em,  saw  they  wasn't  steady, 
But  flocked  in  shaky  squads  together, 
An'  j edged  that  they  were  gittin'  ready 
To  sport  the  whitest  kind  of  feather. 
"At  last  I  showed  my  regimentals  : 
You  oughter  seen  the  creetnrs  travel ! 
They  s'posed  a  thousen  continentals 
Had  come  to  lay  'em  under  gravel. 
Away  they  scooted,  all  a-straddle 
To  git  aboard  their  flimsy  birches, 
An',  launchin'  spry,  begun  to  paddle 
Acrost  the  rapid's  frothy  curchies. 
They  scuffled  smart,  but  man's  resistance 
Was  naught  amidst  the  river's  revels ; 
I  heern  their  deathsong  in  the  distance, 
An'  seen  'em  die  like  Mingo  devils. 
Then,  bein'  hungry  as  a  sharky, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    W  AM  PA  NO  ACS.  75 

I  made  a  dinner  oft  their  vittle, 
And  also  grabbed  a  birchen  barky 
The  coots  had  finished  off  to  whittle." 


XXI 

If  one  should  reach  the  gate  of  glory, 
And  see  beside  it  falchions  bare 

And  corpses  lying  pale  and  gory, 
No  doubt  he  would  be  all  a-stare. 

No  doubt  his  joyous  heart  would  sadden, 
And  he  would  look  around  him  well 

For  earthly  arms  wherewith  to  madden 
Against  assailants  fresh  from  Hell. 

XXII 

So  wondering  Downing  changed  in  mood 
Beside  Niagara's  heavenly  doors, — 
His  battle  ended  with  the  brood 
Of  Mingos  hot  from  guiles  and  gores. 
If  fiendish  men  defiled  such  place 
With  vaunting  over  fiendish  sin, 
He  might  expect  the  lorelei's  face 
And  all  the  peril  hid  therein. 
And  so,  when  moonlit  evening  came, 
He  stretched  himself  beside  the  brink 
Of  waves  bedight  with  argent  flame, 
And  watched  without  a  nod  or  wink. 


76  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXIII 

She  came ;  athwart  the  trembling  shade 
That  fringed  a  thicket-mantled  isle, 
He  saw  a  boat ;  he  saw  the  maid 
Advance  resplendent,  sweet  with  guile. 
He  loitered  not,  he  launched  his  bark 
And  drove  it  o'er  the  eddying  mere, 
Although  he  held  belief  that  stark 
And  bony  Death  would  seize  him  here. 
But  here  he  faltered  not  to  die, 
If  only  she  might  die  with  him ; 
And  how  could  even  lorelei  fly 
Destruction  near  that  awful  brim  ? 

At  first  she  paddled  nigh  to  shore. 
But  quickly  changed  to  reckless  flight, 
For  Downing  deftly  used  his  oar 
And  toiled  with  superhuman  might. 
Erelong,  far  out  upon  the  flow 
Of  ebon  waves  and  snowy  froth, 
They  tossed  and  fluttered  to  and  fro — 
A  moth  beside  another  moth. 
And  then  the  condor-current  caught 
And  mastered  them  in  demon  claws ; 
And  all  was  over — every  thought 
Of  winning  life,  or  even  pause. 

XXIV 

No  chance  for  human  strength  or  skill ! 
The  river  wrought  its  single  will ; 
It  hurtled  them  as  Winter  flings 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    \VAMPANOAGS.  J'J 

A  leaf  upon  cyclonic  wings ; 

Each  second  drove  them  swifter  on, 

And  showed  them  death  more  nearly  won ; 

Until,  anon,  they  saw  or  guessed 

The  cataract's  gleaming,  hasting  crest. 

The  hunter  cast  a  glance  before, 
And  calmly  dropped  his  useless  oar. 
He  gripped  the  thwarts  and  forward  leaned 
With  settled  brow  and  glances  keened ; 
Nor  did  he  gaze  adown  the  surge, 
But  on  the  forest  demiurge ; 
For  much  he  feared  lest  even  here 
Some  wizard  chance  might  waft  her  clear ; 
And  he  was  resolute  as  death 
To  clutch  her,  though  with  drowning  breath. 

But,  fixedly  as  he  might  glare, 
The  maiden  answered  back  his  stare 
As  fixedly,  and  all  the  while 
Allured  him  with  a  syren  smile, 
As  though  she  keenly  longed  to  win 
His  soul  to  deadly  realms  of  sin. 
And  thus,  without  a  pause  or  let, 
With  eyes  upon  each  other  set, 
Amid  the  rapid's  foam  and  hiss, 
They  sought  the  cataract's  abyss. 


As  roars  of  lions  welcomed  those 
Who  died  in  coliseums  old ; 
As  earthquakes  shout  above  the  woes 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

They  crush  within  their  fiery  hold ; 
So  thundered  forth  that  rushing  deep 
To  those  who  shared  its  awful  leap. 

A  fierce,  incessant,  deafening  roll. 
Unmatched  solemnity  of  sound, 
It  shook  the  air,  the  solid  ground, 
It  stunned  the  senses,,  numbed  the  soul. 
It  charmed  in  slaying,  like  the  cry 
Of  ambushed  tigers  charming  one 
Who  spies  the  monsters  creeping  nigh 
And  hears  them  snarl,  yet  cannot  run. 
Meanwhile  the  giant  slayer  had 
No  hate  nor  triumph  in  its  tone ; 
No  purpose,  whether  fierce  or  glad, 
But  mastered  them  as  things  unknown. 
It  saw  them  not,  it  felt  them  not ; 
They  were  as  creatures  unbegot. 
They  were  a  little  froth — no  more ; 
A  breath  amid  that  rush  and  roar. 
They  passed :   no  human  word  can  tell 
How  suddenly  they  came  and  wTent : 
One  moment  speeding  tow'rd  the  hell 
Of  surges :   then  afar,  or  spent. 

They  flitted  like  a  random  thought ; 
Like  ghosts  they  vanisht  into  naught; 
For,  long  before  they  reached  the  base 
Of  that  descending  ocean,  they 
Were  folded  white  from  foot  to  face 
In  vasty  winding-sheets  of  spray. 
Yea,  there  the  hunter  lost  his  prey, 
And  drove  alone,  unknowing  where, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  79 

Through  fearful  caves  of  maddened  waves 
That  whirled  and  hurtled  even  there, 
Like  tigers  struggling  into  graves 
And  battling  over  corpses  bare. 


XXVI 

The  man  who  wanders  far  with  death 
And  peers  within  the  ghostly  gate 
Hath  many  wondrous  facts  to  state 
If  ever  God  restores  his  breath  ; 
And  who  can  marvel  that  the  wight 
Who  plunged  beneath  Niagara's  glooms, 
Believed  his  spirit  winged  its  flight 
Afar  within  the  realm  of  tombs? 

Like  favored  souls  of  Grecian  days 
When  Gods  delivered  pythian  lays, 
While  yet  the  spirit-world  was  near, 
And  man  was  there  and  then  was  here, 
Our  hero  passed  the  Stygian  bounds 
And  saw  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds; 
Yea,  many  a  famed  and  queenly  squaw, 
And  many  a  valiant  sachem,  saw 
Who  drew  the  shaft  against  the  ball 
In  vain,  but  fell  as  freemen  fall. 

There,  crowned  with  plumes  of  eagle-wing, 
Supreme  amidst  a  glorious  ring 
Of  braves,  appeared  the  dreadful  chief 
Who  bowed  New  England's  head  in  grief, 
And  whirled  her  villages  in  flame, 
And  wrote  in  blood  King  Philip's  name ; 


8O  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

Unfading  wrote  it  on  the  roll 

Of  those  heroic  sons  of  dole 

Who  strike  for  hearth  and  native  land 

With  heavy  heart  but  heavier  hand, 

And  perish  striking,  yet  live  on 

As  though  they  fell  at  Marathon. 

The  sachem  cast  an  angry  stare 
Upon  the  stranger's  pallid  face, 
As  all  amazed  that  even  there 
Should  come  a  man  of  English  race; 
Then  sternly  bent  his  mighty  bow 
And  drew  an  arrow  to  the  head 
So  swiftly  that  the  shaft  was  red 
Before  the  victim  guessed  the  blow. 
The  paleface  felt  a  madding  pain ; 
He  raised  a  feeble  arm  to  strive ; 
He  hoped  he  might  be  still  alive, 
Yet  knew  the  weapon  in  his  brain ; 
And  then  he  felt  his  body  hurled 
By  hands  of  superhuman  might 
Through  surging  atmospheres  of  night 
Beyond  the  red-man's  spirit-world. 

No  marvel  Downing  wrote  with  pen 
In  later  days,  that  underneath 
Niagara's  tremendous  seethe, 
Endures  the  heaven  of  Indian  men ; 
And  there  the  awful  sagamore 
Awaits  in  arms  a  promised  clay 
When  he  may  hasten  forth  to  slay, 
And  win  his  forest  realm  once  more. 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  8 1 

XXVII 

He  rose  to  life  through  raging  seas; 
He  saw  the  sky,  he  caught  the  breeze ; 
He  found  himself  without  a  wound, 
Though  gasping  near  to  being  drowned. 
He  headed  tow'rd  the  southern  coast, 
And  swam  as  never  swam  a  ghost. 
In  vain  the  rapids  barred  and  banned ; 
He  tore  his  foaming  way  to  land. 
A  minute's  panting  rest,  and  then 
He  stared  about  the  rocky  glen, 
And  down  the  river's  bubbly  glare 
For  her  whose  witchcraft  brought  him  there. 

Anon  he  saw  her,  living  still 
And  far  beyond  his  power  to  kill. 
From  dizzy  cliffs  above  his  head 
She  leaned  to  spy  if  he  were  dead, 
And  when  he  sought  to  win  her  shelf 
She  fled  as  flies  a  frighted  elf. 
He  clutched  for  pistols  all  in  vain ; 
The  torrent  bore  them  tow'rd  the  main. 
Then,  climbing  swift,  he  won  the  dell 
Where  lately  rang  the  Mingo  yell, 
And  searched  the  thickets  far  and  near 
For  tomahawk,  or  bow,  or  spear. 

Some  angel  helped ;  he  quickly  found 
A  walnut  bow  of  many  a  pound, 
And  twenty  arrows  pictured  o'er 
With  quaint  device  of  powwow  lore; 
And,  being  skilled  in  Indian  charms 


82  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

He  knew  that  these  were  fated  arms 
Assured  to  slay  each  savage  thing, 
However  swift  of  foot  or  wing; 
Yea,  also  weird  enough  to  smite 
Whatever  wizard  haunts  the  night. 

Thus  armed,  he  shouted,  "Shoulder  hoo!" 
And  hasted  westward,  full  of  glee, 
To  strive  with  beast  and  bugaboo 
And  salvage  grim  and  desert  dree; 
Yet  never  backward  turn  his  shoe, 
Nor  ever  fail  in  heart  or  knee; 
But  tramp  Columbia  through  and  through 
From  sunrise  unto  sunset  sea ; 
And  do  the  deeds  of  derring-do 
That  he  could  do,  and  only  he. 

XXVIII 

The  man  who  madly  loves  a  maid, 
And  prays,  "O  sweet !  become  my  bride !" 
But  finds  his  loving  ill  repaid, 
And  sees  his  worship  flung  aside ; 
Who  learns  that  she  will  lure  him  on 
Through  sorrow,  peril,  loss  and  strife 
Till  hope  is  dead  and  life  is  done, 
Nor  ever  yet  become  his  wife ; 
How  bitterly  be  yields  to  fate ! 
How  vengefully  he  turns  to  hate ! 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  83 

XXIX 

So  changed  desire  our  errant  knight 
Who  lately  strove  with  fervid  might 
To  find  the  beauteous  child  of  wrath 
And  shoo  her  out  of  Satan's  path, 
Yet  gathered  naught  for  all  his  pains 
But  travel-stains  and  weary  reins 
'Mid  fastings,  vigils,  marches,  squalls 
And  summersets  down  waterfalls ; 
In  short,  who  lavished  love  and  faith 
To  save  a  savage  (or  a  wraith), 
Yet  saw  his  kindness  paid  with  evil 
Enough  to  tire  the  very  devil. 

His  fervor  cooled ;  he  loathed  the  thought 
Of  meeting  yet  again  her  face ;  ^ 

He  marveled  how  he  ever  sought 
To  do  her  any  deed  of  grace. 
The  memory  of  her  jeweled  glance 
No  longer  set  his  heart  astir; 
It  seemed  as  though  the  sight  of  her 
Would  make  him  curse  and  turn  askance. 
He  even  loathed  the  mighty  West, 
And  loathed  the  very  setting  sun, 
But  might  not  leave  his  task  undone 
Without  a  smirch  upon  his  crest. 
No  marvel  Downing  changed  in  mind, 
For  far  ahead  the  maiden  flew, 
And  when  he  saw  her  face  anew 
The  continent  was  half  behind. 


84  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXX 

Yea,  many  setting  suns  he  kenned, 
And  not  a  few  of  waning  moons, 
Primeval  shades  withouten  end, 
Or  rivers,  marshes,  lakes,  lagoons, 
Before  he  spied  that  lass  agen 
Whose  guileful  beauty  murdered  men. 
Yet  oft  beneath  the  pearl  of  dawn, 
And  oft  in  sunset's  glowing  rim, 
(Distinct,  although  so  far  withdrawn) 
He  saw  her  gracious  figure  swim, 
As  valiant  natures  always  spy 
Their  prey  ahead,  if  not  anigh. 

Thus  brightly  dazzled  on,  he  spanned 
The  Mississippi's  turbid  throng 
Of  waves  to  wastes  of  flowery  land; 
Nor  halted  yet,  but  fared  along 
To  where  the  tides  of  buffalo 
Hid  earth  beneath  their  ebb  and  flow. 
The  panther  scented  at  his  track, 
And  cantered  off  in  stealthy  flight ; 
The  prairie-wolves'  lugubrious  pack 
Beset  his  lonely  bed  till  light ; 
A  drove  of  horses  stared  aloof 
And  pranced  anear  on  stormy  hoof. 

XXXI 

He  made  a  noose ;  he  climbed  a  tree 
And  waited  for  a  chance  to  cast; 
Anon  he  softly  laughed  to  see 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  85 

The  desert  coursers  grazing  past; 
The  lariat  fell  with  easy  slide, 
And  Downing  had  a  horse  to  ride. 
He  mounted  while  the  savage  rose, 
And  flew  as  though  on  eagle's  wing. 
No  need  of  chirruping  or  blows ; 
No  need  of  aught  but  strength  to  cling. 
If  ever  wight  rode  madder  course, 
'Twas  fated  knight  on  demon  horse. 

In  after  years  our  hero  wrote 
(And  printed,  too,  in  text  and  note) 
That  this  extremely  welcome  steed 
Was  not  a  jade  of  earthly  breed, 
But  sent  from  Paradise  or  Hell 
To  work  him  either  weal  or  wail, 
Though  which  no  theologue  could  tell, 
Nor  chief  of  Harvard  or  of  Yale. 
But  this,  perforce,  we  now  believe: 
No  common  charger  might  achieve 
That  arrowy  rush,  without  a  rest, 
Across  the  broad,  primeval  West; 
And  certainly  the  headlong  beast 
Was  frightfully  bewitched,  at  least. 


XXXII 

On  Downing  went ;   the  desert  flung 
Its  doors  agape  to  let  him  in ; 
And  curious  desert  creatures  hung 
Upon  his  track  with  various  din. 
Grey  wolves  pursued  him,  lolling  fire 


86  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

And  dropping  foam  of  fierce  desire 
For  hours  and  hours  along  his  trail ; 
But  found  their  iron  muscles  fail 
And  ceased  to  howl  each  other  on, 
And  vanished  rearward  one  by  one. 

Simooms  of  horses  rushed  to  meet 
His  coming,  joined  him,  kept  beside 
With  straining  neck  and  glinting  feet 
And  fiery  eyes  and  foamy  hide ; 
And  so  would  run  the  livelong  day, 
Till,  wearied  by  his  courser's  stride, 
They  fell  behind  with  wistful  neigh 
And  stared  afar  to  see  him  ride. 

Uncounted  bison  thronged  his  flight 
And  westward  flowed  like  tiding  night. 
They  darkened  leagues  of  treeless  land, 
And  billowed  close  on  either  hand 
With  lurching  hump  and  drooping  head 
And  frothing  mouth  and  glances  red; 
Yet  sought  no  more  to  fight  than  flee, 
And  only  surged  beside  his  knee, 
A  dumb,  uncouth,  unreasoning  throng 
Which  knew  not  why  it  toiled  along. 
For  hours  he  drove  through  plunging  ranks 
Whose  foam  besprent  his  stallion's  flanks ; 
For  hours  he  scarcely  saw  the  ground, 
So  thickly  was  he  compassed  round; 
For  dusty  miles  on  dusty  miles 
He  rode  from  jostling  files  to  files; 
Yet  surely  won  his  way  before, 
And  found  himself  alone  once  more. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  87 

XXXIII 

Grim  horsemen,  mounted  like  to  him 
On  sinewy  coursers  wild  as  deer, 
Arrived  from  desert  edges  dim, 
With  bow  and  quiver,  shield  and  spear, 
Their  deerskins  tossing  on  the  air, 
Their  eyes  aflame  through  ebon  hair. 
But  when  they  spied  the  paleface  nigh, 
They  whirled  away  with  fearful  cry 
And  rode  athwart  the  rimless  plain, 
Low-bowed  above  the  streaming  mane, 
As  rideth  one  who  flies  a  sprite, 
Or  fiend,  or  other  parlous  sight. 

Again,  for  days  he  saw  no  face. 
The  land  was  manless  where  he  came, 
As  though  he  drove  the  human  race 
Before  him  like  a  prairie  flame. 
The  only  man  alive  he  seemed, 
The  last  upon  a  sentenced  earth ; 
For  him  alone  the  sunrise  beamed, 
For  him  the  rainbow  had  its  birth. 
Yet,  whether  palled  in  solitude, 
Or  compassed  round  by  salvage  brood, 
He  rode  with  eager  heart  and  gay, 
Because  afar  he  saw  his  prey 
And  closed  upon  her  day  by  day. 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 
XXXIV 

The  witches  float  on  airy  pinions 
From  setting  sun  to  morning  glow, 

And  find  delight  in  weird  dominions 
Where  saintly  maid  may  never  go. 

For  them  the  rugged  way  is  level, 
For  them  the  darkling  hour  is  bright ; 

They  soar  from  revel  on  to  revel, 

From  waltz  to  song  the  livelong  night. 

I  trow  the  angels  and  the  pardoned 
Are  often  envious  in  their  gaze 

Because  they  see  the  spirits  hardened 
Float  smiling  down  forbidden  ways. 

Ah,   few  divine  the  dreary  labor, 
The  keen  regret,  the  grim  despair, 

Of  those  who  dance  to  pipe  and  tabor 
With  splendid  princes  of  the  air. 

They  only  know  their  matchless  sadness, 
Their  blighted  hopes,  their  wasted  years ; 

They  know  they  are  not  sprites  of  gladness, 
But  prisoners  of  fears  and  tears. 

xxxv 

And  such  was  she,  the  witch  who  hurried 
Our  knight  across  the  desert  plain ; 
Her  cheek  was  wan,  her  glance  a-worried, 
Her  body  faint,  her  soul  in  pain. 
She  fled  on  drooping  plumes  of  sorrow, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  89 

On  wings  of  fright  she  journeyed  west, 
And  often  prayed  to  see  no  morrow, 
If  death  might  bring  her  any  rest. 
To  God — the  god  of  chiefs  and  sages — 
The  Mighty  Soul  of  painted  braves — 
Who  ruled  our  land  in  olden  ages, 
Before  the  paleface  crossed  the  waves — 
To  him,  the  Sire  of  Earth  and  Water, 
The  Sagamore  of  Winds  and  Skies, 
She  pleaded,  "Father,  help  thy  daughter ! 
Thy  weary  daughter,  ere  she  dies !" 

But  gods  of  faint  and  fading  races 
Are  gods  deposed,  and  gods  no  more. 
No  more  they  throne  in  lofty  places, 
No  longer  wield  the  bolts  of  yore. 
No  more  they  levin  through  the  mountain, 
No  longer  storm  along  the  deep ; 
Their  light  has  died  on  brook  and  fountain, 
Their  oracles  have  sunk  to  sleep. 
They  are  but  fiends  and  spirits  fallen, 
But  brownies,  loreleis,  elves  and  fays ; 
They  cannot  help  the  souls  who  call  on 
Their  names,  or  help  in  feeble  ways. 

So  chanced  it  now  with  her  who  needed 
Such  aid  as  nothing  might  withstand; 
The  deity  to  whom  she  pleaded 
Had  lost  the  thunder  from  his  hand. 
The  Master  of  the  Indian  Aidenn, 
Bereft  of  half  his  ancient  might, 
Could  do  no  more  to  save  his  maiden 
Than  send  a  beast  to  shield  her  flight. 


9O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXXVI 

At  last  our  rider  reached  the  border 
Of  stony  steeps  that  fenced  the  plains, 
And  plunged  amid  a  grim  disorder 
Of  arid  gorges  delved  by  rains ; 
When  suddenly  he  spied  before  him 
A  living  hill  of  shaggy  hair, 
Equipped  with  mighty  tusks  to  gore  him 
And  trunk  to  fling  him  into  air. 

This  was  the  pest  of  early  races, 
The  Giant  Bull  of  Indian  creed, 
The  mastodon  of  college  cases, 
The  finis  of  his  precious  breed. 
No  words  can  tell  how  vast  a  creature 
He  was  in  height  and  length  and  girth, 
How  terrible  in  mien  and  feature, 
And  how  his  trampling  shook  the  earth. 
His  orbits,  broad  as  coffee-saucers, 
Shot  flames  from  under  grisly  locks; 
His  codex,  thick  as  frigate-hawsers, 
Uprooted   oaks   and   splintered   rocks. 

No  doubt  the  boundless  brute  had  frighted 
Most  heroes  into  fits  of  fear; 
And  Downing's  self  was  scarce  delighted 
To  see  a  mastodon  so  near. 
In  haste  he  waved  his  hat  and  helloed 
To  make  the  monster  clear  the  path; 
The  monster  stood  his  ground,  and  bellowed 
As  loud  as  Etna  in  its  wrath. 
The  courser  disappeared  in  terror 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  9 1 

So  quick  and  slick  that  Downing  thought  • 

That  he  perchance  had  been  in  error 

In  holding  that  a  horse  he  brought. 

But  there  was  little  time  for  wonder 

Because  his  pony  flew — or  ran ; 

The  mammoth  roared  again  like  thunder, 

And  charged  as  only  mammoths  can. 


XXXVII 

"The  monster  give  me  lots  of  trouble," 
Says  Downing  in  his  pictured  page; 
"He  allays  charged  upon  the  double, 
In  spite  of  his  unusyal  age. 
I  had  to  skip  like  forty  crickets 
To  dodge  his  vicious  pokes  an'  hits ; 
For,  as  to  skulkin'  'mongst  the  thickets, 
He'd  ripped  a  wilderness  to  bits. 

"He  charged  an'  charged  an'  kep'  a-chargin' 
As  full  of  friskiness  as  spunk, 
An'  onst  there  warn't  a  finger's  margin 
Betwixt  my  bacon  an'  his  trunk. 

"I  used  the  powwow's  bow  an'  arrer, 
Bewitched  to  kill  at  every  lick ; 
An'  every  time  he  passed,  I'd  harrer 
His  highness  with  a  whizzin'  stick. 
But,  all  the  same,  the  pesky  creetur 
Would  face  about  an'  buck  agin, 
Nor  didn't  show  in  limb  or  feetur 
The  slightest  sign  of  givin'  in. 
I  had  an  awful  lengthy  battle 


92  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Afore  I  fetched  a  drop  of  blood, 
An'  want  no  more  to  do  with  cattle 
Who  orter  drowned  in  Noah's  flood. 

"At  last  I  sorter  recollected, 
While  restin'  on  my  twentieth  pull, 
How  finely  mammoths  are  purtected 
By  that  tremenjous  clip  of  wool. 
So  when  the  obstinate  old  bison 
Discharged  another  cannon-roar, 
I  sent  a  yard  of  powwow-pizen 
Full-chisel  down  his  yawnin'  bore. 
The  venom  took  like  scarlet  fever; 
He  stopped  his  rush  an'  stood  aghast, 
An'  presently  begun  to  weever 
An'  tremble  like  a  fallin'  mast. 
His  awful  sasser-eyes  were  glassy, 
His  tongue  was  furred,  his  trotters  sagged ; 
Then  down  he  slammed!  good  lordamassy ! 
The  biggest  game  I  ever  bagged !" 


XXXVIII 

Yes,  there  he  lay,  defunct  and  gory, 
A  mastodon,  an  adult  male ; 
And  whoso  doubts  the  wonder-story 
May  see  the  skeleton  at  Yale. 
Right  welcome  was  the  brawny  sinner 
To  Downing,  hungrier  than  a  stork ; 
He  sliced  a  tenderloin  for  dinner, 
And  used  his  sword  for  knife  and  fork 
The  only  knight  of  all  the  ages 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  93 

Since  Eros  sang  to  fife  and  tabor, 

Or  Clio  told  of  Ares'  rages, 

Who  carved  a  mammoth  with  his  sabre. 

His  hunger  gone,  he  dozed  a  bit, 
And  then  resumed  his  westward  track, 
Regretting  much  his  wizard  hack, 
Although  the  brute  was  hard  to  sit ; 
For  still,  through  morning's  veil  of  grey, 
Or  sunset's  glowing  fleece  of  red, 
He  often  saw  the  Indian  fay 
Flit  weary  on,  not  far  ahead, 
And,  had  his  steed  not  taken  leave, 
He  might  have  bagged  her  any  eve. 


XXXIX 

At  last  he  reached  an  elfin  land, 
A  land  where  magic  reigned  supreme, 
Fulfilled  with  shapes  on  every  hand 
More  nondescript  than  shapes  of  dream 
For  here    (as  Downing  often  told) 
Titanic  powwows,  famed  of  old 
Before  Manitto  lost  his  throne, 
Had  wrought  their  sorceries  in  stone. 

Aloft,  around,  enchantments  frowned, 
Tall  obelisk,  colossal  mound, 
Rotunda,  fagade,  temple-wall, 
Keep,  citadel,  palatial  hall, 
Or  endless  burghs  of  spire  and  dome, 
All  sentinelled  with  imp  and  gnome, 
Who  scowled  in  flintv  wrath  or  woe 


94  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

To  see  the  paleface  tramp  below. 

Again,  the  desert  glittered  bright 
With  many  colors,  mingled  stains, 
Red,  orange,  purple,  green  and  white, 
Blue,  sable,  lilac,  longdrawn  veins, 
That  painted  countless  winding  fells, 
And  beetling  cliffs  and  herbless  plains, 
Or  filled  with  witchcraft  shadowy  dells ; 
While  here  and  there  a  magic  wood 
Of  fallen  stony  trunks  bestrewed 
The  vales  with  crimson  jasper  stems, 
Or  agate  fit  for  diadems, 
Or  opal-tinted  chalcedon : 
The  wizard-wolds  of  ages  gone, 
The  wreck  of  primal  hill  and  dale, 
Swept  down  the  wonder-stream  of  time 
From  hoary  days  of  Saturn's  prime 
When  monsters  tracked  the  tender  shale 
And  dragons  soared  above  the  slime. 


XL 

It  seemed  a  mirage  built  of  air, 
Or  boreal  tints,  or  bubbles,  wrought 
To  glow  a  moment  false  and  fair, 
Then  vanish  sparkling  into  naught. 
It  seemed  no  mortal  land;    it  glared 
Too  prodigal  in  hue  for  earth; 
It  seemed  a  land  that  fiends  had  dared 
To  make  in  malice  or  in  mirth; 
A  land  of  goblin  shapes  and  tints, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  95 

Devised  by  seraphim  perverse, 
Full  many  wicked  ages  since, 
To  mock  the  Maker's  universe. 

Perchance  the  maiden  hoped  that  here, 
Where  magic  made  its  dwelling-place, 
Her  tracking  foe  might  tread  in  fear, 
Relax  his  pace,  forsake  his  chase; 
Or  quit  the  cumbered  way  and  roam, 
Forever  circling,  till  he  died, 
Like  one  who  seeks  without  a  guide 
To  thread  a  Roman  catacomb. 

But  on  he  tramped  with  fearless  stride 
From  elfin  tower  to  demon  hall, 
Along  the  base  of  wizard  wall, 
Through  Stygian  forest  stricken  prone, 
Through  pandemoniums  of  stone, 
Forever  forward,  ever  west; 
A  dogging  phantom,  scorning  rest, 
Who  never  lost  his  quarry's  track, 
Nor  left  a  footprint  pointing  back ; 
A  cruel  spectre  fell  as  hate, 
Preluding  vast  pursuing  broods, 
The  first  of  deadly  multitudes, 
Precursor,  herald,  omen,  fate! 


XLI 

So  faring  on  from  sight  to  sight, 
He  stumbled  soon  on  ventures  new, 
Which  none  would  dare  receive  for  true, 
Except  that  Downing's  self  did  write 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

The  prodigies  with  trusty  pen, 
And  tell  them  oft  to  thankful  men. 

The  Painted  Land  was  lately  past, 
And  Downing  strode  a  windy  flat 
Of  gravel,   when  he  heard  a  pat 
Of  footfalls  coming  like  a  blast ; 
And,  glaring  back,  he  saw  a  herd 
Of  pigmy  steeds  pursuing  fast 
With  steaming  mouth  and  flying  mane, 
Although  no  human  rider  spurred, 
Nor  had  they  ever  known  the  rein. 
They  skirred  like  cats  ;  they  skimmed  the  ground  ; 
And  none  was  taller  than  a  hound. 
They  sped  like  wind ;   they  overran 
And  circled  round  that  lonely  man, 
Menacing,  scarce  a  rod  aloof, 
The  weirdest  nags  since  Noah's  flood; 
For  every  one  had  cloven  hoof, 
The  signature  of  fiendish  blood. 

No  man  divineth  whence  they  came: 
Perhaps  from  Eblis-caves  of  flame : 
Perhaps  from  wildernesses  known 
To  imps  and  sorcerers  alone; 
But  certainly  they  thronged  to  aid 
The  hunted  Wampanoag  maid. 

XLII 

Our  hero  had  a  lovely  fight, 
The  strangest  known  to  mortal  wight, 
A  scrap  with  ponies  devil-born, 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  97 

Who  threshed  him  like  a  sheaf  of  corn. 
The  air  was  full  of  talon-feet, 
All  banging  Downing's  sacred  meat. 
In  vain  he  charged  the  elfin  foes; 
His  valor  won  but  harder  blows. 
In  vain  he  sabred,  vainly  shot; 
The  ponies  paid  him  hot-and-hot. 
His  carcass  bore  the  dints  and  nicks 
Of  something  like  two  hundred  kicks. 
No  other  champion  known  to  fame 
Such  drumming  ever  got,  or  shame, 
As  Downing  in  his  famous  row 
With  palfreys  footed  like  a  cow. 

At  last,  when  battle  seemed  in  vain, 
And  Paradise  too  near  and  plain, 
A  dusty  whirlwind  brought  him  aid, 
As  Cyprian  Venus,  robed  in  shade, 
Through  Ilian  sunlight  flew  to  save 
Her  Phrygian  prince  from  Grecian  glaive. 
Our  Yankee  spake  no  parting  word, 
But  darted  panting  through  the  herd, 
And,  scuttling  fifty  yards  unseen, 
Attained  a  river's  huge  ravine, 
Where,  scrambling  o'er  the  rocky  edge, 
He  perched  upon  a  dizzy  ledge. 

A  moment's  peace,  a  moment's  breath, 
And  then,  with  piercing,  cattish  neigh, 
Those  quadrupeds  of  Satan  tore 
To  seek  their  prey  and  catch  their  death ; 
For,  plunging  o'er  the  rocky  brae, 
And  tumbling  half  a  mile  or  more, 


98  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

They  perished  all  that  very  day, 
As  scholars  know  who  thither  go 
To  find  their  skeletons  below. 

XLIII 

Full  little  recked  our  errant  knight 
What  coursers  these  might  be,  or  when 
They  burstecl  out  of  primal  night 
To  batter  paleolithic  men; 
For,  staring  down  with  gladsome  soul, 
To  watch  the  cursed  pigmies  roll, 
He  saw  a  spectacle  that  reft 
His  mind  from  everything  beside; 
He  saw  a  mighty  river  stride 
In  frenzy  through  a  mountain  cleft, — 
A  river  that  fulfilled  his  gaze 
With  something  wilder  than  amaze. 

A  thousand  yards  below  the  eye 
It  foamed,  between  titanic  walls 
So  dizzy  high  they  seemed  anigh, 
Though  far  apart  for  trumpet-calls. 
And  both  the  lofty  ramparts  frowned 
In  shapes  like  masonries  of  man : 
Swart  fortresses  a  league  around, 
Dike,  castle,  turret,  barbican, 
Or  altars,  temples,  pagods  vast, 
Where  stony  demons  scowled  aghast; 
Yea,  everywhere  the  fiends  had  built 
Some  lair  of  cruelty  and  guilt 
As  huge  and  grim  and  horrible 
As  are  the  palaces  of  Hell. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    W  AM  PA  NO  ACS.  99 

Below, — far  down, — alone, — in  gloom, — 
The  haunting  Jinn  of  a  giant  tomb — 
A  river  hurled  its  glittering  spume, — 
A  prisoned  sprite  that  sought  to  flee — 
A  captive  mad  to  reach  the  sea 
And  perish  there,  but  perish  free. 

XLIV 

In  any  world  of  sin  or  bliss 
No  other  river  is  like  this, 
So  horrible,  so  stern,  so  sad, 
So  dungeoned  close,  so  raving  mad. 
It  seems  an  angel  fallen,  curst, 
Forever  ruined,  knowing  the  worst, 
Abhorred,  pursued  and  scourged  for  crime, 
Yet  ever  fierce,  superb,  sublime, 
And  grandly  suffering  alone, 
Like  Satan  on  his  burning  throne. 

And  he  who  gazed  upon  it  then 
Believed  he  gazed  on  demon  tide, 
Right  perilous  to  lives  of  men, 
And  perilous  to  souls  beside; 
Yet  faltered  not  to  follow  it, 
For,  far  along  the  awful  moat, 
He  saw  the  wizard  maiden  sit 
A  billow-tost  and  fleeting  boat. 

He  knew  his  prey;   he  left  the  brow; 
He  won  the  base,  no  matter  how; 
Such  heroes  win  whatever  aim, 
Though  death  confront  and  Eblis  flame. 
The  strand  attained,  he  bounded  swift 


IOO  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

O'er  frothing  rift  and  bowlder  drift 
Until  he  found  a  frowsy  kraal, 
Half  burrowed  'neath  the  mountain  wall, 
Whose  naked  folk  had  fled  before 
That  avalanche  of  eldritch  steeds, 
But  left  upon  their  darkling  shore 
A  skiff  that  suited  Downing's  needs. 
He  launched  in  waves  of  speeding  snow, 
He  made  the  lumpish  paddle  quiver, 
And   flew   as   though   Apollo's   bow 
Had  sent  him  whizzing  down  the  river. 

XLV 

I  trow  that  every  stream  enchanted 
Is   passing  glorious   to  behold; 

I  trow  its  magic  banks  are  haunted 
By  goblin  lords  of  mighty  mould. 

I  trow  those  demons  live  in  pleasure, 
Begirt  with  tower  and  castle  wall, 

And  often  tread  the  festive  measure, 
And  banquet  oft  in  princely  hall. 

And  whoso  reaches  those  dominions, 
They  look  adown  and  beck  him  in 

Because  they  long  for  earthly  minions 
To  serve  for  them  at  feasts  of  sin. 

Ah,  bitter  woe  to  dazzled  mortals 
Who  enter  where  the  fiends  ordain  ! 

For  none  who  pass  those  iron  portals 
Shall  issue  forth  or  smile  again. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  IOI 

Yea,  also  woe  to  spirits  daring 

Who  shake  the  head  and  hasten  by! 

For  griefs  will  follow  their  wayfaring 
Until  they  envy  those  who  die. 

No,  neither  just  nor  evil  liver 

May  wholly  'scape  from  hazards  fell, 

Who  ventures  down  enchanted  river 
And  dares  the  seraphim  of  Hell. 

XLVI 

However  fair  to  fiendish  sprites 
That  magic  valley  may  have  been, 
It  gloomed  to  Downing's  troubled  een 
The  horriblest  of  earthly  sights. 
On  every  side  the  horizon 
Was  half  a  league  above  his  head ; 
The  welkin  was  an  azure  thread 
'Twixt  dizzy  walls  of  jagged  stone. 
He  saw  no  blooming,  verdant  thing, 
Nor  any  beast,  nor  any  bird ; 
That  woful  torrent  never  heard 
The  heavenly  sound  of  song  or  wing. 

The  lanskip  seemed  a  part  of  Hell, 
Except  that  smoke  and  flame  had  failed ; 
You  marveled  why  no  demon  sailed 
With  shrieks  along  the  fearful  dell. 
It  had  a  countenance  like  sin, 
It  had  a  countenance  like  death ; 
The  gazer  almost  lost  his  breath 
To  think  that  he  was  caged  therein. 


IO2  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

It  bosomed  many  monstrous  seats 
Of  ruin,  marvelous  in  form ; 
And  every  one  upheld  a  swarm 
Of  stony  goblins  and  afreets. 
Yea,  every  cyclopean  hold, 
Keep,  turret,  castle,  knightly  pile, 
Pagoda,  temple,  altar,  aisle, 
Was  browed  with  devils  manifold. 
Fiom  every  face  and  front  and  height 
The  surly  horrors  glared  adown, 
Some  forward  leaned  with  spiteful  frown, 
Some  starting  back  in  hideous  fright. 
On  every  flinty  lip  a  curse 
Of  ghoulish  hate  was  petrified, 
As  though  malignantly  they  died, 
Impenitent,   for  aye  perverse. 
Words  cannot  tell  how  fierce  they  were, 
Nor  how  their  horror  filled  the  place; 
It  seemed  that  never  hope  of  grace 
Might  visit  him  who  wandered  there. 


XLVII 

Beneath  these  altitudes  of  woe 
The  cursed  river,  far  below, 
Fled  arrow-like   with   endless  moan 
Along  a  groove  of  solid  stone ; 
Now  speeding  sheets  of  lucent  glass 
Adown  a  straight  and  roomy  pass; 
Now  tossing  crests  of  angry  foam 
By  thwarting  pinnacle  and  dome ; 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  1 03 

Now  charging  over  waterfalls 

With  glinting  hoofs  and  trumpet-calls; 

Forever  mad  to  reach  the  main, 

To  'scape  its  dungeon,  break  its  chain. 

The  jinns  of  that  infernal  land 
Pursued  our  knight  with  heavy  hand, 
And  vexed  him  sore  for  venturing  in 
Their  realm  of  punishment  and  sin. 
A   dozen  cataracts   a   day 
He  ran  in  hissing  foam  and  spray; 
A  dozen  times  he  lost  his  boat, 
Rejoiced  if  he  himself  could  float ; 
A  dozen  times,  if  not  a  score, 
He  swam  to  gather  bark  and  oar; 
And  recommenced  with  constant  soul 
His  venture  down  the  stream  of  dole. 

A  month  he  chased  the  flying  maid, 
And  then  another,  undismayed 
By  coiling  eddy,  leaping  wave, 
By  deserts  lonesome  as  the  grave, 
By  goblin  palace,  wizard  lair, 
By  impish  scowl  or  ghoulish  glare. 
But  eftersoon  (while  flitting  swift 
Along  a  shadowy  mountain  rift, 
A  dizzy  mile  from  brow  to  base, 
Where  never  midday  showed  its  face) 
He  met  a  host  of  savage  foes 
And  half  rejoiced  to  feel  their  blows, 
So  dreary  was  his  soul,   so  fain 
To  greet  some  living  wight  again. 


IO4  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XLVIII 

No  doubt  the  centuries  of  old, 
Ere  Adam  walked  in  Paradise, 
Had  beasts   ef  various   monstrous   mould 
Whose  forms  would  thunderstrike  our  eyes. 
But  none  of  those  abnormal  shapes 
Would  fright  us  nearer  unto  death 
Than  certain  birds,  as  big  as  apes, 
Whose  yardlong  bills  were  fringed  with  teeth. 
Such  nondescripts,  the  very  last 
Of  their  primeval,  devilish  breed, 
Now  hasted  swift  as  mountain  blast 
To  serve  the  Wampanoag's  need. 

In  all  the  years  that  Downing  fought 
He  waged  no  madder,  wilder  strife  ; 
And  more  than  once  he  grimly  thought 
Those  snapping  fowl  would  end  his  life. 
They  wheeled  above  with  deafening  shriek, 
They  banged  with  pinion,  tore  with  beak, 
And  fetched  the  gore  in  many  a  streak. 
In  vain  he  hurtled  blow  on  blow; 
His  sabre  merely  gashed  the  air. 
In  vain  he  drew  his  wizard  bow; 
The  creatures  dodged,  with  room  to  spare. 
At  last,  despairing  how  to  win 
The  puzzling  fight  by  martial  might, 
The  fancy  came  that  he  might  grin 
The  feathered  pests  to  death,  or  flight. 

Like  Crockett  he  could  grin  the  bark 
Oft"  gnarled  and  knotty  oaken  trees 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS. 

And  leave  the  awestruck  wood  as  stark 
And  glossy  as  a  Holland  cheese. 
But  how  should  merely  human  jaws 
Excel  in  grinning  goblin  things  . 
Who  had  as  many  teeth  as  saws, 
And  bills  outmeasuring  their  wings? 
They  formed  a  circle  round  the  chief 
And  grinned  as  only  they  knew  how ; 
They  smirked  him  nearly  blind  and  deaf, 
They  smiled  him  raw  from  chin  to  brow. 
They  grinned  his  epaulets  to  dust, 
The  lace  and  buttons  from  his  suit; 
They  grinned  his  scabbard  clean  of  rust, 
They  nearly  grinned  him  to  a  brute. 
The  hero's  strategy  was  lost 
On  hostiles  built  for  dental  fame; 
And  so,  in  anguish  terror-tost, 
He  sabred  on  till  evening  came. 


XLIX 

Till  evening  came  he  sabred  on, 
And  then  the  victory  was  won; 
For  Beelzebub  had  made  his  fowls 
With  other  views  of  life  than  owls. 
They  dropped  asleep  at  sunset  hour 
Precisely  like  a  closing  flower, 
Nor  ever  knew  what  happened  next ; 
For  Downing,  panting  forth  a  text 
Of  jubilee,  put  sword   in   sheath, 
And  sawed  their  heads  off  with  their  teeth. 


IO6  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Again  victorious  in  fight, 
He  dallied  not  till  morning  light, 
But  dared  the  murky  stream  and  flew 
To  prodigies  and  perils  new. 
Another  day,  aye  many  more 
He  quivered  swiftly  down  the  roar 
And  spume  of  that  enchanted  tide, 
With  goblin  sights  on  every  side, 
So  nondescript  in  shape  and  size, 
So  madly  marvelous  in  dies, 
So  otherworldly  and  unsightly, 
That  he  alone  can  paint  them  rightly. 


'Til  do  my  very  best  endeavor," 
He  writes  in  tones  of  modest  doubt, 
"To  give  a  notion  of  the  river 
An'   countries  piled  up  roundabout. 
The  banks  got  loftier  air  steeper 
A  mile  or  two  from  top  to  base; 
While,  underneath,  the  trough  got  deeper, 
The  current  speedier  in  pace. 

"I  spanked  along  through  signs  an'  wonders 
Tremenjous  big,  but  all  in  ruins, 
Which  seemed  to  me  like  Satan's  blunders, 
Instead  of  Heavenly  Wisdom's  doins. 
I  saw  pagodas,  domes,  pavilions 
Consid'able  like  works  of  Hindoos, 
With  spires  an'  pinnacles  by  millions, 
An'  hoss-shoe  doors  an'  p'inted  windows ; 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   WAMPANOAGS.  IO/ 

Xo  eend  of  battlements  an'  ditches, 
Redoubts  an'  bastions,  gates  an'  towers, 
As  though  the  fallen  spooks  an'  witches 
Expected  siege  by  angel  powers ; 
And,  now  an'  then,  a  mile-long  frigate 
Aground  upon  a  mile-high  crag, 
With  goblins  bustlin'  round  to  rig  it, 
Or  histin'  up  old  Nipton's  flag; 
Besides  the  most  enormous  picturs ! 
A  mile  of  paint  at  every  whack ! 
Red,  yaller,  purple,  speckled  mixturs, 
Or  grizzled,   foxy,   green  an'  black. 
"In  idol-fixins  there  were  Dagons 
An'  Baals  an'  Molochs  by  the  hunderd, 
An'  many  other  gods  of  pagans, 
The  biggest  part  all  cracked  an'  sundered. 
No  eend  of  shapes  from  morn  to  sundown 
Of  every  size  an'  every  kind ; 
Three  hundred  miles  my  barky  run  down 
Afore  I  left  the  town  behind. 
An'  nawthin'  right,  or  straight,  or  solid 
From  north  to  south ;    it  seemed  a  pity 
Hard-workin'  imps  should  be  so  stolid, 
An'  only  build  a  ruined  city. 


LI 

"In  short,  the  place  was  awful  leaky, 
An'  skussly  fit  to  shelter  codgers ; 
But,  shaky  though  it  was  an'  leaky, 
It  had  a  swarmin'  swath  of  lodgers. 


IOS  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

On  every  side  were  tribes  an'  nations 

Of  spooks  an'  fiends  as  black  as  jet, 

Who  sot  outside  their  habitations, 

As  though  the  rooms  were  overhet. 

At  first  I  felt  a  leetle  skeery 

To  see  'em  standin'  round  so  large; 

But  purty  soon  I  got  more  cheery 

An'  quite  disposed  to  make  a  charge; 

Because   I  presently  diskivered, 

By  dint  of  boldly  pokin'  round, 

The   struttin'   fiends   were   chicken-livered 

An'  not  the  chaps  to  hold  their  ground. 

I  couldn't  make  'em  face  a  scrimmage, 

For  when  they  spied  old  Downing  come, 

They  had  a  way  of  changin'  image 

To  make  believe  they  wer'n't  to  hum. 

They  looked  Apollyons,  fierce  an'  furious 

Enough  to  make  apostles  run ; 

But  when  you  mounted  'em  'twas  curious 

How  suddintly  they'd  turn  to  stun. 

"To-wit,  I  cruised  around  a  castle 
Ten  times  as  big  as  Bunker  Hill, 
Where  devils  challenged  me  to  wrastle 
On  every  stoop  an'  winder-sill. 
But  when  I  landed  clost  below  it, 
\Vith  hopes  to  capture  what  was  in  it, 
The  foxy  creeturs  seemed  to  know  it, 
An'  changed  to  granite  in  a  minute. 
'Twas  jest  the  same  in  forty  places : 
I'd  see  the  longtailed  imps  in  flocks, 
A-bendin'  down  their  horned  faces ; 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    WAMPANOAGS.  IOQ 

An'  then  I'd  reach  a  pile  of  rocks. 
I  couldn't  find  a  hoof  or  feather, 
Nor  catch  a  whiff  of  brimstun  smell; 
But  all  the  same,  I'd  bet  a  wether 
I  traveled  through  a  part  of  hell." 


LII 

So  sturdy  Downing  wandered  down 
The  wizard  canon  of  the  West, 
And  only  saw  a  Stygian  town 
Where  some  would  spy  the  mansions  blest, 
Or  pillared  jinn,  or  chained  afreet, 
Or  hear  the  loreleis  chanting  sweet. 

Its  solemn  gulfs  and  awful  steeps, 
Its   crests   and   pinnacles   sublime, 
Its  giant  cities,  hurled  in  heaps, 
Its  wondrous  mimicry  and  mime 
Of  every  mighty  work  that  man 
Has  builded  since  the  world  began, 
Its  glories  all,  were  naught  to  him 
But  lairs  of  fiendish  seraphim. 
A  solid  knight  of  common  sense, 
A  puritan  of  faith  intense, 
He  knew  Apollyon's  sooty  face 
Behind  the  veil  of  fay  or  grace ; 
He  saw  his  gloomy  wings  o'erspread 
Sublime  abyss  or  mountain  head, 
And  felt  his  deadly  malice  quiver 
In  every  fair  enchanted  river. 

But  like  the  most  of  humankind, 


IIO  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

He  found  the  things  he  looked  to  find ; 

He  found  the  demons  and  their  power 

From  early  dawn  to  sunset  hour; 

He  felt  their  poisoned  talons  rive 

Wherever  he  might  drive  or  strive; 

And  here  especially  he  knew 

The  crowning  rage  of  Satan's  crew, 

The  utmost  malice  Hell  could  brew. 

Full  oft  its  spunkies  overset 

His  skiff  and  left  him  dripping  wet; 

Or  dragged  him  like  a  helpless  girl 

For  hours  around  an  eddy's  whirl ; 

Or  slung  him  like  a  javelin 

Adown  a  cataract's  foaming  din. 

From  morn  to  night  they  plagued  his  path ; 

For  many  a  day  he  felt  their  wrath. 


LIII 

At  last  he  'scaped  that  realm  accurst; 
Athwart  its  southern  gate  he  burst. 
He  saw  the  demon  ramparts  rise 
Behind,  against  the  northern  skies. 
The  river  dimpled  smooth  and  clear 
Through  forests  gay  with  flowery  dies, 
And  songs  of  birds  rejoiced  his  ear. 
The  world  was  still  alive,  he  knew, 
And  knew  it  with  a  glad  surprise, 
And  almost  wept  to  find  it  true, 
Such  thankful  heartbeats  reached  his  eyes, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  I  I  I 

He  glanced  ahead;   he  spied  his  prey, 
And  cheerly  hasted  on  his  way, 
Like  one  who  sees  a  prize  anear, 
A  glorious  guerdon  long  since  due, 
The  wage  of  many  a  toilsome  year, 
A  trophy  sought  since  life  was  new. 
He  felt  athirst;   he  dipped  his  hand, 
And  found  the  savor  of  the  sea; 
The  continent  was  past,  and  he 
Had  entered   into  sunset-land. 
That  hour  the  Wampanoag  lost 
Her  witchcraft, — lost  her  strength  to  fly; 
He  saw  her  useless  paddle  crossed, 
Her  visage  drooped  as  though  to  die. 
He  reached  and  clutched  her  nerveless  arm; 
He  dragged  her  in  his  own  canoe ; 
Then  sate  and  gazed,  nor  offered  harm, 
For  sudden  pity  smote  him  through. 


LIV 

She  veiled  her  head  to  welcome  death; 
She  uttered  not  a  pleading  breath. 

He  seemed  to  have  before  his  face 
The  very  last  of  a  fallen  race, 
The  last  of  many  a  tribe  and  clan, 
The  final  soul  of  red-skinned  man. 
He  could  not  even  wish  to  slay 
A  thing  so  pitiful  and  meek. 
Instead,  he  raised  his  hand  to  stay 
A  tear  from  sliding  down  his  cheek. 


112  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

He  felt  like  one  who  journeys  slow 
In  some  funereal  train  of  woe, 
And  cannot  find  a  bitter  word, 
Although  the  corpse  to  be  interred 
Was  once  his  hated,  harmful  foe. 

Awhile  they  floated  down  the  tide, 
And  still  the  maiden  never  sighed, 
Nor  uttered  any  speech  of  wail, 
Although  perhaps  her  spirit  cried 
To  gods  who  helped  her  sires  prevail, 
Or  bravely  bear  the  mortal  blow, 
In  forest  battles  long  ago. 
At  last  there  came  a  gentle  shiver, 
And  calmly  lifting  up  her  veil, 
She  showed  a  visage  wan  and  pale, 
But  full  of  witchery  as  ever. 
One  glance  aloft,  to  morning's  glow, 
That  seemed  to  say,  "Manitto,  hail !" 
Then  softly  rocking  to  and  fro, 
She  poured  her  deathsong  o'er  the  river. 


LV 

I  am  of  Wampanoag  race; 

I  come  of  many  sagamores. 
My  fathers  saw  the  white  man's  face. 

And  gave  it  welcome  to  their  shores. 
They  welcomed  it,  and  where  are  they? 
Who  was  it  trampled  them  to  clay? 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    WAMPANOAGS.  1 

I  bear  the  blood  of  Metacom,* 
The  chief  of  Wampanoag  chiefs. 

He  struck  to  save  his  forest  home, 
He  struck  at  insolence  and  griefs. 

Aye,  who  forgot  his   father's  name, 

And  broke  his  brother's  heart  with  shame  ? 

He  filled  New  England  earth  with  graves ; 

He  filled  New  England  air  with  fire ; 
He  slew  a  thousand  paleface  braves ; 

Slew  child  and  mother  with  the  sire; 
He  paid  the  blood-debt  every  whit, 
And  I  am  glad  to  think  of  it. 

Where  are  the  warriors  of  my  clan? 

They  sleep  as  sleep  the  valiant  dead. 
There  was  no  Wampanoag  man 

But  fell  with  hatchet  dripping  red. 
Your  longknives  heard  their  dying  groans ; 
Your  ploughshares  grate  among  their  bones. 

They  left  to  me  what  freemen  could 
Who  perished  for  their  homes  in  vain ; 

They  left  a  heritage  of  blood, 

Of  vengeance  crazing  heart  and  brain ; 

A  mission  to  avenge  their  fate, 

A  deathless  heritage  of  hate. 

*  The  Indian  name  of  King  Philip.  His  elder  brother, 
imprisoned  in  profound  peace  by  the  settlers,  died  of 
humiliation.  His  wife  and  son  were  sold  into  slavery 
in  the  West  Indies. 


114  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

But  now  my  lifelong  task  is  done, 
For  I  have  reached  the  further  West, 

The  ocean  of  the  setting  sun, 

Where  all  our  homeless  tribes  will  rest, 

Will  halt  beside  the  pathless  deep 

And  sing  their  funeral  songs,  and  sleep. 

Thank  Heaven  !  the  paleface  cannot  save  ! 

He  cannot  put  aside  my  hour. 
I  would  not  live  to  be  a  slave, 

Nor  even  honored  in  his  power. 
I  come,  O  Metacom,  to  thee, 
As  fits  a  Wampanoag,  free! 

She  ended  here  her  funeral  chant, 

And  while  her  captor  harkened  still, 
She  rose  and  threw  herself  aslant 

So  quick  he  could  not  check  her  will- 
So  quick  he  hardly  drew  a  breath 
Before  she  passed  the  gate  of  death. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL 


Ill 

THE   GENTLE   EARL 


Full  many  knight  puts  lance  in  rest 
Against  a  foeman  fair  in  front, 
Expecting  there  to  fight  his  best 
And  there  to  find  the  battle's  brunt, 
Nor  doubts  that  yet  a  fiercer  foe 
Behind  him  comes  at  charging  speed, 
Who  levels  spear  to  lay  him  low 
Before  he  does  a  valiant  deed. 

So  Downing  rode  from  day  to  day 
With  loaded  gun  and  sharpened  steel 
To  seek  adventure  far  away 
And  shiver  skulls  for  others'  weal, 
Nor  guessed  that,  had  he  bided  home, 
And  calmly  dozed  in  elbow-chair 
His  dourest  enemies  had  come 
To  wage  him  bitter  battle  there. 

Without  a  fear  the  hero  went; 
He  held  that  Shiloh  dwelt  secure; 
He  trusted  angel-pinions  bent 
Above  his  child  and  kept  her  sure; 
And  all  his  knightly  spirit  leaned 
A-front  to  spy  the  sooty  wings 
Of  fallen  angel,  imp  and  fiend, 
And  hear  their  frightful  challengings. 


Il8  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

For  lately  woful  tidings  ran 
That  lofty  potentates  of  sin 
Had  entered  Salem  with  their  clan 
And  built  anew  their  state  therein ; 
Proposing  thence  to  clamor  down 
(Believe  the  story  those  who  will) 
And  scourge  with  burnings  Boston  town 
And  drive  our  flag  from  Bunker  Hill. 


ii 

He  reached  the  town  at  sunset  stroke, 
And  found  it  bare  of  Christian  folk; 
For  none  who  dreaded  Satan's  snares, 
Or  valued  sleep  or  evening  prayers 
Would  bide  within  a  haunted  land 
Where  Tophet  held  the  upper  hand, 
Where  every  night  the  lanskip  shook 
With  rigadoons  of  witch  and  spook, 
And  even  sheriffs  stirred  their  boots 
To  flight  before  Apollyon's  hoots. 

Through  desert  ways  the  hero  hied, 
With  silent  homes  on  either  side, 
Nor  creature  spied  of  mortal  frame, 
Unless   perchance  a   withered   dame 
Of  evil  fame  for  dance  and  song 
At  mid  of  night  with  Satan's  throng. 

Anon  he  won  the  oaken  wood 
Where  Tophet's  mongrel  multitude 
Rejoiced  to  waltz  the  night  away 
In  Reverend  Cotton  Mather's  day. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  I  IQ 

Yet  there  he  found  but  evening  dusk, 
Perfumed  by  yellow  woodbine  musk, 
And  brightly  rayed  with  argent  sheaves 
Of  moonlight  sliding  through  the  leaves. 
He  tethered  horse  and  paced  the  shade 
With  pistol  cocked  and  naked  blade; 
For  hours  he  wandered  to  and  fro, 
Alive  to  every  firefly's  glow, 
To  every  hoot  of  owl,  or  flight 
Of  bat  or  insect  through  the  night; 
Hoping  at  every  breath  to  hear 
The  hellish  anthem  storming  near; 
But  watching,  harking  all  in  vain 
Until  a  terror  filled  his  brain 
Lest  Belial's  crew  had  spied  him  there 
And  called  its  congress  otherwhere. 


in 

But  when  the  hour  of  midnight  fell, 
No  doubt,  no  doubt,  there  was  a  hell ! 
He  heard  its  awful  legions  come 
Through  distant  gloom  with  swelling  hum, 
As  though  Apollyon's  rebel  sprites 
That  moment  fell  from  Eden's  heights, 
An  avalanche  of  sin  and  woe, 
Tremendous  e'en  in  overthrow. 
Afar  he  heard  them ;    then  anear ; 
A  levin  brood,  both  there  and  here; 
Their  pinions  filling  night  with  soughs, 
And  smiting  'thwart  the  groaning  boughs, 


I2O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

As  though  contending  tempests  drove 
On  mighty  pens  along  the  grove. 

The  air  was  ghastly  overhead 
With  monsters  fit  to  fright  the  dead : 
The  shapes  that  fallen  angels  wear 
To  symbolize  their  fierce  despair: 
Unshriven  ghouls  in  winding  sheets, 
Fantastic  hydras,  swart  afreets, 
Titanic  dragons  winged  with  fire, 
Or  formless  forms — chimaeras  dire: 
With  clouds  of  weirdly  pigmy  things 
Who  whirred  like  bats  on  leathery  wings, 
All  settling  black  on  either  hand 
And  smutting  miles  of  forest  land. 

Behind  arrived  the  wizard  broods 
In  pairs,  in  flocks,  in  multitudes, 
The  women  flaunting  through  the  gloom 
On  shooting  switch  or  bouncing  broom ; 
The  men  astride  of  bucking  goat, 
Or  wayward  calf,  or  wheezing  shoat. 
Of  every  age  and  rank  they  came, 
The  lowly  scrub,  the  dainty  dame, 
The  ruffled  squire,  the  ragged  boor, 
The  Indian  tramp,  the  smirking  moor, 
The  puckered  hag,  the  brazen  jade, 
With  here  and  there  a  rosy  maid 
Whose  visage  wore  a  seraph-smile, 
Yet  had  an  undergleam  of  guile. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  121 

IV 

And  Downing  spied  among  the  crew 
At  least  a  dozen  whom  he  knew 
And  hitherto  had  held  for  sure 
As  chosen  spirits,  levites  pure, 
Nor  guessed  that,  underneath  their  show 
Of  sanctimonious  joy  or  woe, 
They  were  the  sons  of  Ashtoreth 
And  walked  in  secret  ways  of  death. 

Immensely  dazed  our  hero  was 
To  find  the  scuiires  of  Zion's  laws 
Communing  with  the  rascal  horde 
Of  those  who  call  the  devil  Lord. 
But  being  blest  with  Yankee  sense, 
He  straightway  drew  the  inference 
That  all  who  taste  of  sin's  delight 
In  open  day  or  veiling  night, 
Xo  matter  how  they  garb  their  lives, 
Are  neophytes  of  wizard  hives 
Who  come  perforce  to  Satan's  whirls 
And  dance  to  every  tune  he  skirls. 

Yet  all  the  keener  grew  his  fear 
Because  he  found  acquaintance  here; 
For  doubts  befell  lest  even  he 
Had  bended  unaware  the  knee 
To  reverence  the  lord  of  Dis, 
And  might  receive  the  branding  kiss, 
And  find  himself  among  the  mell 
Of  those  who  jig  their  way  to  hell. 
The  whimsy  scared ;   he  turned  to  go ; 


122  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

He  fled  on  skulking  tip  of  toe ; 
He  groped  in  whirls  of  sulphur-smoke, 
And   fell  within  a  hollow  oak ; 
There,  goggling  through  a  gnarly  hole, 
He  watched  aghast  the  hideous  shoal 
Of  wizard,  fiend  and  imp  and  troll. 


Anon  a  silence  fell ;    and  then 
The  giant  Enemy  of  men 
Arose  with  pipe  in  hand,  and  blew 
A  rune  that  pierced  the  forest  through 
With  melody  grotesque  and  shrill, 
Yet  sweet  enough  to  bow  the  will, 
To  fire  the  blood  and  turn  the  brain, 
To  make  a  man  forget  his  pain, 
Or  joy,  forget  his  natal  sod, 
His  very  name,  his  very  God. 

Our  hero  marveled  much  to  weet 
A  note   so  ravishing  and  sweet, 
So  otherwise  from  all  that  he 
Had  thought  infernal  tunes  to  be ; 
And,  harking  still,  he  felt  a  strong 
Desire  to  join  the  warlock  throng, 
And  bow  before  the   devil's  throne, 
And  dance,  although  he  danced  alone. 
How  think  of  duty,  think  of  shame, 
How  care  for  honor's  haught  acclaim, 
For  altars,  fires  and  native  land, 
Or  seraph  choir,  or  sainted  band, 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  123 

When  trills  of  demon  music  stole 
From  bar  to  bar  of  all  the  soul? 
When  earth  and  Eblis  listened  mute 
To  Lucifer's  beguiling  flute  ? 

But  halting  yet  in  ways  of  guilt, 
He  chanced  to  touch  his  sabre's  hilt. 
The  touch  was  magical ;   once  more 
He  heard  Columbia's  battle  roar; 
He  heard  through  smoke  of  volleying  guns 
Undaunted  Freedom  call  her  sons, 
The  drummer's  roll,  the  bugler's  peal, 
The  hissing  ball,  the  clashing  steel ; 
He  heard  them  clear,  he  heard  them  all, 
And  answered  back  the  glorious  call. 
The  fighting  blood  of  a  valiant  race 
Rolled  flaming  through  his  farmer  face ; 
He  drew  his  blade  and  forth  he  ran 
To  die  perchance,  but  die  a  man. 


VI 

What  evil  thing  of  hell  or  earth 
Can   bravely  meet   a   soul   of   worth? 
A  thousand  demons,  gathered  there, 
Dispersed  before  one  patriot's  stare. 
They  knew  Columbia's  federal  head, 
And  leaped  aloft  in  sudden  dread ; 
Yea,  trolls  and  wizards,  imps  and  spooks 
Flew  up  the  trees  like  frighted  rooks. 

But,  when  they  saw  a  single  wight 
Defied   their   many-headed   might, 


124  TIIE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

They  rustled  down  with  thunder-shout 
And  hemmed  him  closely  roundabout, 
A  weirder,  wickeder  array 
Than  ever  dares  the  face  of  day, 
All  watching  him  with  settled  eyes 
Of  fury  mixed  with  stark  surprise. 

A  little  pause.     Then  forward  came 
A  wretch  who  mumbled  Downing's  name ; 
A  ghastly  creature,  stiff  and  cold, 
A  ghoul  escaped  from  burial  mould, 
The  carrion  of  a  deacon  whom 
Our  chief  had  followed  to  the  tomb, 
A  month  agone,  and  left  him  there 
With  bended  head  and  mournful  stare. 

This  foul  apostate,  full  of  guile, 
Advanced  with  stony  eye  and  smile 
And  proffered  fist,  but  all  the  while 
His  speechless  muzzle  yawned  apart 
To  suck  the  blood  of  Downing's  heart. 
Aroint !  what  worthy  wight  could  take 
In  patience  that  cadaverous  shake, 
The  touch  of  that  defiling  hand ! 
Our  Greatheart  flashed  his  ready  brand 
Athwart  the  smirking,  noisome  hound, 
And  spread  his  halves  along  the  ground. 

Instanter  all  that  wizard  troop 
Volcanoed   forth  a  mongrel   whoop, 
A  discord  vast  of  yelp  and  howl, 
Of  hoot  and  snarl  and  bleat  and  growl; 
While  many-fashioned  hideous  maws 
Disparted :   alligator  jaws, 


THE    GENTLE    EARL. 

Revealing  yards  of  glinting  teeth, 
Or  goatish  mouths  with  beards  beneath, 
Viparian  muzzles,  clattering  bills, 
And  tusked  snouts  and  scaly  gills ; 
All  pouring  spiteful  threats  and  jeers, 
While  Downing  vainly  stopped  his  ears. 

A  moment  thus  they  lifted  high 
Their  slogan,  scaring  earth  and  sky ; 
And  then  the  wondrous  fight  began— 
All  Eblis  'gainst  a  single  man. 


VII 

"It  was  the  daintiest  of  brushes," 
Our  Yankee  Caesar  calmly  writes, 
"An'  what  with  double  teeth  an'  tushes 
I  got  a  fisher's  luck  of  bites. 
The  stunted  trash  begun  the  flurry, 
As  leetle  chaps  are  apt  to  dew ; 
They  scaled  around  me  hurry-scurry 
With  every  kind  of  spit  an'  mew. 
They  stung  an'  pizened  like  muskeeters 
Until  I  fairly  danced  with  pain, 
An'  rubbed  me  with  their  bristly  feeturs, 
An'  allays  rubbed  agin  the  grain. 
But,  what  was  specially  disgustin', 
They'd  skip  atop  of  me  an'  crow 
To  make  believe  that  I  was  bustin' 
An'  hadn't  many  steps  to  go. 
But  all  the  same,  I  kep'  a-whirlin' 
My  hefty  sabre  'round  my  head, 


126  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

An'  sent  at  least  a  hundred  skirlin', 
An'  left  a  hundred  more  for  dead. 
"At  last  I  druv  the  pigmy  passel 
To  scatter  out  an'  fly  like  chaff ; 
An'  then  begun  the  serious  wrastle 
With  Beelzebub  an'  puss'nal  staff. 
The  first  I  tackled  was  a  dragon, 
A  dozen  yards  from  snoot  to  tail, 
With  eyes  a  chap  could  hang  a  flag  on, 
An'  pinions  like  a  lugger's  sail. 
But  when  I  punched  the  bloated  critter 
I  found  him  nawthin'  but  a  skin; 
He  wasn't  even  stuffed  with  litter, 
An'  vanished  when  I  punched  agin. 
That  raised  my  grit;    I  recollected 
That  Satan  flies  the  spunky  saint ; 
An'  so  I  purty  soon  dissected 
Another  dragon's  gilt  an'  paint. 


VIII 

"  'Twas  jest  the  same  with  all  the  boodle 
Of  shapes  from  regions  underneath ; 
They  couldn't  face  a  puppy  poodle 
Who  had  the  grit  to  show  his  teeth. 
I  collared  demon,  imp  an'  devil, 
Apollyon,  Moloch,  Beelzebub, 
An'  made  the  puffy  vermin  travel 
Like  squirrels,  through  the  oaken  scrub. 
They  stood  about  as  poor  a  tussle 
As  flocks  of  guinea-hens  an'  geese ; 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  I2/ 

In  fact  they  hadn't  any  muscle, 
An'  didn't  weigh  a  pound  apiece. 

"The  only  shapes  that  give  me  trouble 
Belonged  to  granther  Noah's  herd ; 
For  instance,  wizards  an'  their  rubble 
Of  ghoul  an'   vampyre,  beast  an'  bird. 
The  women  sartinly  did  scuffle 
An'  scratch  an'  claw  like  all  possest ; 
They  didn't  leave  me  half  a  ruffle, 
Xor  nary  button  down  my  vest. 
The  warlocks,  too,  were  tough  curmudgeons 
Who  did  their  best  to  whack  an'  stab 
With  pitchforks,  cobblestones  an'  bludgeons, 
Or  any  wepm  they  could  grab. 

'T  had  an  hour  or  two  of  battle 
Afore  I  druv  the  human  crowd, 
Whereas  the  longtailed,  flying  cattle 
Of  Hell  had  vanished  like  a  cloud; 
From  whence  I  dare  to  draw  conclusion 
That  only  spooks  of  mortal  birth 
(Ourselves  perhaps)   can  work  confusion, 
An'  reely  hurt  the  sons  of  earth. 
Xow,  like  enough  you've  heerd  the  stories 
That  all  my  wizards,  imps  an'  sprites 
Were  nawthin  more  'n  a  troop  of  tories 
Who  met  in  Salem  woods  of  nights. 
But  never  mind  these  doubts  an'  cavils: 
They  worry  Downing  not  a  jot; 
He  fought  with  somethin' — men  or  devils,— 
An'  won  the  fight — no  matter  what." 


128  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

IX 

The  parlous  strife  was  scarce  completed 
Before  a  headlong  rider  came, 
His  rowels  red,  his  courser  heated, 
His  visage  pale,  his  eyes  a-flame, 
Who  touched  his  hat  in  salutation 
And   shouted,   "Putnam   sends  me  here 
To  tell  you  how  the  bulls  of  Bashan 
Are  charging  round  our  flanks  and  rear. 
From   Canada   Burgoyne   is   striding 
To  reach  us  through  the  Hudson  way, 
While  other  scarlet  hordes  are  gliding 
From  Newport  up  Rhode  Island  Bay. 
Nor  pillage  do  they  crave,  nor  slaughter; 
They  eome  with  neither  cord  nor  fire; 
They  only  seek  your  gracious  daughter 
To  hold  in  hostage  for  her  sire. 
For  seers  have  told  the  king  of  Britain 
That  whilst  your  mighty  arm  is  free, 
The  Lion  shall  be  surely  smitten, 
And  Yankees  never  bow  the  knee." 

Thereon  the  rider  wheeled  and  hurried 
Away  o'er  meadow,  hill  and  dell, 
While  Downing  straddled  mare  and  scurried 
To  succor  Shiloh  ere  it  fell. 


This  planet  hath  no  fairer  sight 
Than  men  who  march  in  ranks  aright, 
Responding  to  the  drummer's  beat 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  I  29 

With  measured  tread  of  sounding  feet, 

Their  shining  arms  at  even  slant 

And  not  a  visage  turned  askant, 

The  column  straight  from  front  to  rear 

And  angled  like  a  shapely  pier, 

As  though  a  granite  wall  should  come 

Along  the  ways  to  sound  of  drum. 

So  marched  the  scarlet-coated  men 
Who  sought  the  Shiloh  Lion's  den ; 
While  tory  horse  in  careless  ranks 
Patrolled  the  van,  the  rear,  the  flanks ; 
And,  far  in  advance,  loosely  strayed 
Six  braves  to  watch  for  ambuscade. 

Some  yards  before  the  musketeers 
A  fiery  courser  pricked  his  ears 
And  stamped  the  earthly  ways  in  scorn 
As  though  he  were  a  steed  of  Morn 
Who  longed  to  set  his  wings  a-flare 
And  transverse  avenues  of  air. 
This   charger   lightly   bore   along 
The  chief  of  all  the  martial  throng, 
A  gracious  youth  of  noble  mould 
In  brave  attire  of  red  and  gold, 
Whose  lilied  cheek  and  flaxen  curls 
Reminded  one  of  youngling  girls. 
A  noble  youth  he  surely  was, 
Who  dearly  loved  his  country's  cause, 
And  loved  his  king  with  reverence, 
Nor  dreaded  death  in  their  defence ; 
Who  also  loved  his  ancient  name, 
And  longed  to  give  it  statelier  fame 


I3O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Than  any  that  his  sires  had  won 
Crusading  'neath  Judean  sun ; 
•   And   therefore  loved   the  trumpet's   bray, 
The  battle  set  in  proud  array, 
The  volley's  crash,  the  cannonade, 
The  gleam  of  bayonet  and  blade. 


XI 

No  lord  was  he  of  mean  degree, 
But  famed  for  state  and  pedigree. 
Of  many  castles  was  he  heir, 
And  none  a  castle  in  the  air ; 
But  each  upon  its  craggy  steep, 
A  massy  pile  of  tower  and  keep, 
Wherein  were  story-haunted  halls 
With  armored  shapes  along  the  walls; 
And  each  within  a  spacious  fief 
Of  grain  and  turf  and  oaken  leaf, 
Where  ravens  prophecied  of  woe 
To  antlered  deer  a-drowse  below. 

But  (better  loved  than  all  of  this) 
He  left  behind  a  mother's  kiss, 
And  also  left  the  pure  embrace 
Of  girlish  sisters,  fair  of  face, 
Who  yet  of  lovers  had  no  ken, 
And  thought  him  grandest  man  of  men. 
He  carried  next  his  gentle  heart 
Their  letters  sweet,  and,  while  apart 
From  other  folk,  would  read  anew 
The  kindly  wish  and  fond  adieu, 


THE    GENTLE    EARL. 


And  gladly  think  of  days  to  come 
When  glorious  peace  would  send  him  home 
To  hear  those  blessing  angels  speak, 
With  tears  and  kisses  on  his  cheek. 


XII 

He  held  a  letter  even  now 
Beneath  his  eyes  and  bended  brow 
When  suddenly  arose  the  keen 
Crack  of  a  Mingo  carabine; 
And,  glancing  down  a  sidelong  rift, 
He  spied  a  maiden  riding  swift 
While  close  behind  her  lightly  ran 
A  leather-garbed  and  painted  man. 

In  vain  she  rode ;   the  cunning  shot 
Had  deftly  sought  a  vital  spot. 
He  saw  the  courser  plunge  and  die ; 
He  saw  the  maiden  rise  and  fly; 
He  saw  the  Mingo's  gleaming  knife, 
And  spurred  amain  to  save  a  life. 
He  won ;   he  tore  the  maid  from  death ; 
He  reached  her  while  she  stopped  for  breath 
And  turned  with  horror-stricken  glance 
To  face  the  wolfish  foe's  advance. 
He  fiercely  wheeled  his  fiery  bay, 
And  drove  the  savage  from  his  prey. 

She  seemed  a  maid  of  twenty  years ; 
Her  eyes  were  azure  through  her  tears ; 
Her  countenance  was  passing  fair, 
Despite  the  pallor  of  despair; 


132  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Her  golden  locks  had  broken  free, 
And  she  was  gold  from  crown  to  knee, 
A  creature  beautiful  to  see. 


XIII 

I  find  that  never  wight  of  worth 
Can  go,  no  matter  where,  on  earth, 
But  men  divine  his  honored  name, 
And  point  him  out,  and  tell  his  fame. 
This  lordly  youth  could  scarcely  save 
An  ambushed  girl  from  savage  glaive 
And  hide  her  safe  behind  his  van, 
Before  a  passing  dotard  man 
Uplifted  ragged  hat  and  smiled, 
And  greeted  her  as  Downing's  child. 

Ah!  mighty  was  the  captor's  joy; 
He  colored  like  a  gladdened  boy; 
For  chance  had  compassed  what  he  planned, 
And  triumph  overbrimmed  his  hand. 
But  all  the  hotter  flushed  his  face 
Because  his  captive's  piteous  grace, 
(Unconsciously  and  lacking  guile) 
Had  made  him  long  to  win  her  smile. 

So,  while  he  faced  his  ranks  about 
And  cheerly  trode  the  seaward  route, 
He  brought  her  wherewithal  to  ride 
And  journeyed  courteous  by  her  side, 
Beseeching  pardon  for  the  wrong 
He  did  in  haling  her  along; 
( )r  grieving  o'er  the  bloody  shame 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  133 


Of  strife  'twixt  men  of  English  name 
Or  trusting  that  her  sire  would  bring 
New  loyalty  to  crown  and  king, 
And  garner  clemency  for  those 
Who  now  were  Britain's  valiant  foes ; 
With  many  other  words  of  ruth. 
Befitting  well  a  noble  youth 
Who  followed  gentilesse  in  sooth. 


It  is  an  easy  thing,  I  hold, 
For  youngling  souls  of  kindly  mould, 
Who  journey  lonely  side  by  side, 
To  think  of  altar,  groom  and  bride. 
So  presently  this  English  earl 
Began  to  love  our  Yankee  girl, 
And  strove  with  every  tender  art 
To  reach  the  heaven  within  her  heart ; 
Though  gallantly  ashamed  to  tell 
His  suit  to  captive  damozel, 
So  virginal  was  he  in  soul, 
So  chivalrous  and  soft  to  dole. 
Yet  many  gracious  words  he  passed, 
And  many  yearning  glances  cast, 
Or  smiled  to  meet  her  dreamy  gaze, 
And  offered  service  in  courtly  ways. 

But  how  could  Esther  think  of  love  ? 
Her  mind  was  drawn  to  things  above ; 
Her  heart  was  otherworldly  pure. 
She  knew  no  girlish  guess  or  lure ; 


134  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  when  she  lifted  up  her  eyes 

Of  azure  light  to  azure  skies 

She  purposed  not  to  dazzle  men, 

Nor  guessed  that  she  was  comely  then ; 

She  only  lifted  them  to  pray 

That  worldly  thoughts  might  pass  away. 


xv 

By  day  the  column  seaward  strode — 
At  night  a  country  squire's  abode 
Secluded  Esther.     Near  at  hand 
The  earl  encamped  with  all  his  band. 
That  evening,  while  a  zither  played, 
.He  sang  a  lovelorn  serenade, 
And  watched  her  gentle  face  askant 
With  longing  that  the  fervid  chant 
Might  win  the  smile  he  loved  to  see, 
Or  win  her  heart,  if  that  could  be. 

But  Esther  thought  it  worldly  song, 
And  doubted  sore  of  doing  wrong 
In  hearing  such  a  lightsome  strain 
With  any  feeling  but  of  pain. 
And  when  he  pleaded  she  would  sing, 
She  made  the  roomy  mansion  ring 
With  solemn  airs  and  pious  lays, 
The  psalmodies  of  olden  days 
When  captive  Hebrews  choired  beside 
Euphrates  and  the  Kebar's  tide. 

It  made  him  wondrous  sad  to  hear 
Such  melodies  from  one  so  dear. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  135 

How  should  his  spirit  ever  win 
Such  altitudes,  so  clear  of  sin ! 
How  could  her  holy  soul  descend 
To  know  him,  even  as  a  friend ! 
Anear  they  sat,  yet  far  apart— 
A  mighty  gulf  'twixt  heart  and  heart — 
So  passed  in  vain  the  lovelorn  day, 
As  lovelorn  lives  have  passed  away. 


XVI 

Xot  every  earthly  sight  can  be 
So  clear  as  sights  behind  the  eye ; 
Xot  every  mortal  man  doth  see 
If  this  be  true,  or  that  a  lie. 
I  think  each  human  doth  create 
Xo  little  of  this  world  of  dole, 
And  shapes  his  daily  life  and  state 
Accordant  with  his  fateful  soul. 
One  meeteth  ghouls  and  sheeted  ghosts 
And  witches  foul  and  murky  sprites ; 
Another  meeteth  saintly  hosts 
And  angel  wings  and  Eden  lights. 
One  findeth  only  bitter  strife 
And  corpses  stark  and  weapons  bare ; 
Another,  naught  but  peaceful  life 
And  gladsome  creatures  everywhere. 

So  burly  Downing,  born  for  war, 
And  nursed  on  battle's  smoke  and  flame, 
Found  earth  a  very  different  star 
From  her  who  bore  his  honored  name. 


36  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Xo  matter  whither  fared  his  girl, 
She  quickly  won,  as  told  above. 
Some  worshipper,  perhaps  an  earl, 
"VYho  longed  to  save  and  serve  and  love ; 
While  he.  the  hero,  hero-like. 
Met  hazards  numberless  and  dire, 
Forever  pushed  to  draw  and  strike 
Through  men  and  demons,  blood  and  fire. 

And  now,  yet  panting  from  the  broil 
With  Salem's  wizard  crew,  he  spurred 
To  save  his  threatened  home,  and  moil 
The  British  ranks  and  Tory  herd. 
The  odds  were  huge,  the  peril  light : 
A  coming  nation  nerved  his  arm : 
A  prototype  of  might  and  right 
Mav  front  a  host  without  alarm. 


XVTI 

But  nearing  home,  our  Romus  found 
The  village  still  above  the  ground, 
And  heard  from  many  a  rustic  scout 
How  Albion's  troop  had  faced  about, 
And  also  how  his  gracious  child 
Had  fared  to  meet  him  through  the  wild, 
And  vanished,  none  could  settle  where, 
Though  many  sought  her  trail  with  care. 
Thereon  he  bade  them  seek  again. 
And  hied  away  with  flowing  rein 
To  hunt  the  Lion's  scarlet  files 
From  solid  land  to  Brandon's  Isles. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  137 

Good  lack !  how  many  snares  bestrewed 
His  way,  whichever  way  he  rode ! 
For  warriors  trained  in  weird  deceit 
Protected  England's  slow  retreat 
With  stratagems  of  forest  guile 
That  made  each  furlong  twice  a  mile. 
At  last,  so  weary  grew  the  track, 
He  fell  asleep  upon  his  hack, 
And  jolted  on  with  knightly  snore, 
As  though  a  trumpet  blew  before, 
Till  Satan  brought  the  strangest  hap. 
That  ever  spoiled  a  hero's  nap. 
He  had  a  dream  :  he  felt  a  jar : 
He  thought  himself  a  shooting  star : 
He  clutched  the  mane  and  hooted,  "Who!" — 
The  world  was  thirty  feet  below ! 

Yes,  thirty  feet  below  his  boots, 
And  thirty-five  below  his  hoots, 
He  spied  the  path  he  lately  trod, 
He  spied  the  shadow-dappled  sod, 
And  caught  through  tossing  leaves  a  clear 
Though  hasty  glimpse  of  azure  mere ; 
While  overhead  (can  this  be  true?) 
A  score  or  more  of  comets  flew 
And  all  the  demon-stars  that  hie 
Before  a  fallen  skater's  eye. 
At  first  he  thought  a  Tory  wizard 
Had  mounted  him  astride  a  blizzard 
And  sent  him  whirling  overland, 
A  prisoner  in  Satan's  hand, 
Who  nevermore  would  deal  on  earth 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

A  valiant  stroke  or  punch  of  worth. 
But,  looking  twice,  he  clearly  spied 
His  nag  beneath,  himself  astride, 
And  also  spied  around  her  chest 
A  twisted  thong  of  hide  undressed, 
Which  held  her  with  a  condor-grip 
Suspended  from  a  walnut's  tip. 


XVIII 

Right  choleric  was  Downing  then 
To  think  that  painted  heathen  men 
Should  hoist  him  with  a  beastly  noose 
Like  any  doltish  wolf  or  moose. 
But  vainly  might  he  snort  and  rave 
At  powwow,  sagamore  and  brave; 
He  found  himself  no  less  in  air, 
And  waltzing  like  a  cultured  bear. 
So  clutching  hard  the  cowhide  twist, 
He  shinned  aloft,  hand  over  fist ; 
Then  seized  a  bough  and  deftly  swung 
To  earth,  from  leafy  rung  to  rung. 

But  how  pursue  the  foe  afoot? 
Or  how  desert  a  faithful  brute 
Who  whinnied  from  her  lofty  berth 
Her  shrill  desire  to  visit  earth  ? 
Our  Ajax  searched  for  axe  or  spade ; 
But  finding  neither,  drew  his  blade, 
And  hewed  as  only  heroes  hew, 
Until  he  smote  the  walnut  through 
And  tumbled  it  with  mournful  soughs 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  139 

Athwart  the  woodland's  crowded  boughs ; 
Thus  landing  Dobbin,  still  alive, 
But  scarcely  fit  to  ride  or  drive. 

In  vain  he  heartened  her  to  rise. 
She  lay  at  length  writh  filmy  eyes 
And  trembling  legs  and  heaving  chest, 
A  creature  sorely  needing  rest ; 
While  Downing  sadly  watched  her  throes, 
Till  presently  both  fell  a-doze, 
The  courser  lying  prone,  and  he 
"With  folded  arms  against  a  tree. 


1  hold  opinion  that  the  sprites 
Who  fell  from  Eden's  shining  heights 
Do  very  rarely  slumber  well ; 
And  often  pace  their  grievous  hell, 
Or  wander  Yavelrs  universe, 
Bethinking  them  with  zeal  perverse 
W^hat  manner  sin  to  fashion  next 
\Yhereby  to  keep  the  angels  vext ; 
Or,  chancing  near  a  worthy  man, 
Asleep,  or  watching  ill,  they  plan 
A  scurvy  scheme  to  make  him  gird 
At  Yankee  Doodle's  Baldybird. 

No  doubt  it  was  an  imp  like  this, 
A  vagrom  rogue  frorrt  burning  Dis, 
Who  tricksily  allured,  or  drove, 
A  Tory  robber  through  the  grove, 
And  showed  him  Downing  napping  there 


14°  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

In  sentry  o'er  his  napping  mare. 

Right  well  the  skulking  skinner  knew 

The  paladin  of  Freedom's  crew 

Whose  mighty  arm  had  brought  to  scorn 

The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn. 

So,  riving  sundry  withes  of  wood, 

He  bound  the  hero  where  he  stood, 

Upright,  but  slumbering  as  sound 

As  any  sleeper  underground. 

This  clone,  he  stirred  his  rascal  shanks 

To  overtake  the  scarlet  ranks, 

And  bade  their  chieftain  wheel  his  men 

To  crush  Columbia  there  and  then. 


xx 

Erelong  the  sleeper  woke  refreshed, 
To  find  himself  securely  meshed, 
And  see  before  his  wondering  eyes 
A  painted  brave  of  matchless  size : 
A  redskin  tramp  who  chanced  that  way — 
No  matter  whence — -from  far  a-gley — 
And,  finding  Shiloh's  pinioned  son, 
Had  halted  for  some  Mingo  fun : 
A  murderous  tramp  who  brandished  slow 
A  tomahawk  in  act  to  throw, 
And  had  a  leering,  cruel  grin 
Between  his  vulture  beak  and  chin. 

But  deadly  dark  as  seemed  the  case, 
The  archetype  of  Yankee  race 
Disdained  to  utter  prayer  or  cry, 


THE    GENTLE    EARL. 

And  faced  his  foeman  eye  to  eye 
With  such  a  haughty  Marian  look 
That  even  Indian  muscles  shook, 
And  all  askant  the  hatchet  flew, 
And  merely  shored  a  withe  in  two. 
Instanter  stalwart  Downing  broke 
The  rest  asunder  at  a  stroke ; 
Then  seized  his  gun  with  hunter  sleight 
And  dared  the  scalping  Pict  to  fight. 

Now  came  a  battle  like  to  those 
Of  Argive  palms  and  Ilian  woes, 
When  heroes  poured  a  noble  flood 
Of  eloquence  o'er  fields  of  blood, 
And  magnified  their  godlike  skill 
And  haught  ability  to  kill, 
Before  they  drew  their  brazen  blades 
And  banged  each  other  through  the  shades. 

XXI 

"An  fust  the  creetur  cussed  my  vitals," 
We  read  in  Downing's  dialect, 
"An'  give  me  forty  ugly  titles, 
As  near  as  I  can  recollect. 
He  called  me  squaw  an'  yankee  doodle, 
He  called  me  old  an'  deaf  an'  blind, 
He  called  me  fox  an'  hare  an'  poodle, 
With  other  names  that  skip  my  mind. 
He  swore  to  have  my  yaller  scallop, 
An'  pitch  my  bones  to  bears  an'  hounds, 
He  swore  to  make  my  sperrit  gallop 


142  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

About  Manitto's  hunting-grounds. 
An'  all  the  time  he  kep'  a'  prancin 
Around  me,  through  the  underscrub, 
An'  rooted  brush,  an'  sent  it  dancm' 
An  grinned  the  bark  off  many  a  shrub, 
But  purty  soon  he  turned  his  noddle 
With  scootin'  round  so  awful  prest, 
An'  got  so  tired  he  couldn't  waddle, 
An  had  to  squat  an'  ketch  a  rest. 

"Thereon  I  took  my  turn  at  banter 
An'  braggin'  how  I  meant  to  slay. 
I  circled  'round  him  on  a  canter, 
An'  made  the  breshwood  fly  like  hay. 
I  sent  some  hefty  bowlders  spinnin 
About  the  woods,  like  skippin'  fleas ; 
I  fairly  beat  the  coot  at  grinnin', 
An'  scaled  the  bark  off  timber  trees. 
Of  course  1  didn't  disappint  him 
For  ugly  names  an'  slander  words, 
An'  furthermore  I  'greed  to  jint  him, 
An'  fling  his  scraps  to  beasts  an'  birds. 
I  wasn't  more  than  half  in  arnest, 
I  never  shone  in  makin'  b'lieve ; 
An'  when  I  tried  to  scowl  my  starnest 
"I  nearly  sniggered  in  my  sleeve. 
At  last  I  thought  I'd  done  my  duty, 
An'  played  the  Mingo  long  enough ; 
An'  so  I  told  my  copper  beauty 
To  show  his  liveliest  fightin'  stuff. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  143 

XXII 

"He  bounded  forrard,  feathers  wavin', 
Air  fetched  a  yell  air  clinched  his  bow. 
He  bent  it  like  it  was  a  shavin', 
Though  stiffer  than  a  walnut  hoe. 
He  pinted  up  an'  belched  a  holler, 
An'  then  he  pinted  at  the  ground ; 
He  got  the  string  behint  his  collar, 
An'  nearly  hauled  himself  around. 

"At  last  he  let  the  arrer  whistle 
(A  hickry  arrer  tipped  with  stun)  ; 
I  tell  ye,  cost  me  all  my  gristle 
To  stop  it  with  my  duckin-gun. 
It  traveled  like  a  rifle  bullet, 
An'  give  my  lock  an  awful  clip. 
The  trigger  stuck ;   I  couldn't  pull  it 
No  more  than  pull  a  loaded  ship. 
I  had  to  scratch  around  for  tinder, 
An'  strike  a  light  to  make  her  hoot, 
But  knocked  the  sachem's  bow  to  flinder 
Afore  he  got  another  shoot. 

"Bymebye  we  quit  our  distant  scrimmage 
An'  sidled  up  for  neighbor  talk. 
I  used  my  sword  to  spile  his  image; 
He  slashed  at  mine  with  tomahawk. 
I  found  the  creetur  warn't  a  pigmy, 
An'  had  to  wrastle  like  a  bear, 
Because  he  scuffled  smart  to  dig  me 
An'  reely  meant  to  have  my  hair. 
We  fit  like  bumblebees  in  clover. 


144  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Fust  one  atop  an'  then  the  other ; 
But  purty  soon  the  fuss  was  over, 
An'  Downing  shet  of  Injun  brother. 
I  couldn't  say  jest  how  it  ended, 
An'  misremember  where  I  clipt ; 
But  there  the  Mingo  lay  extended, 
The  biggest  man  I  ever  whipt." 


XXIII 

The  battle  scarce  had  gotten  end 
Ere  Downing  saw  a  thicket  bend 
A  dozen  rods  away,  and  saw 
Emerge  therefrom  a  youthful  squaw, 
A  gliding,  crouching  shape,  with  meek 
And  timid  gaze  and  wasted  cheek, 
And  garments  travelworn,  as  though 
She  came  in  vigil,  stint  and  woe 
Through  many  days  of  rain  or  sun 
To  find  and  warn  a  well-loved  one. 

This  haggard  daughter  of  the  wild 
Bore  on  her  weary  back  a  child, 
And  ever,  while  she  stooped  along, 
She  chanted  low  a  forest  song, 
Nor  knew  that  bloody  death  was  here, 
Nor  spied  the  foeman  lurking  near, 
But  hasted  on  to  hinder  fate, 
Unwitting  that  she  came  too  late. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  145 

XXIV 

But  when  she  saw  the  fallen  chief 
She  lifted  such  a  keen  of  grief 
That  he  who  harkened  there  would  fain 
Have  suffered  any  grievous  pain 
Rather  than  hear  such  wail  again. 
Next,  checking  suddenly  her  moan, 
She  stooped  to  search  if  life  were  flown ; 
Then  turned  her  eyes  from  left  to  right 
To  find  the  victor  of  the  fight. 
She  fixed  him  with  a  settled  stare, 
A  stony  gaze  of  stark  despair ; 
But  not  another  cry  was  heard, 
No  mourning  nor  beseeching  word. 
She  only  raised  a  shaking  hand 
And  pointed  to  the  stranger's  brand; 
Then  drew  a  finger  'cross  her  throat, 
And  made  a  sign  as  though  she  smote ; 
Submissive,  mute,  before  her  foe 
And  craving  death  to  end  her  woe. 

Our  hero  gazed,  right  sore  amazed 
To  see  this  sylvan  creature  crazed, 
And  find  that  he  had  thrust  the  dart 
Of  battle  through  a  woman's  heart. 
He  held  himself  a  hardened  soul, 
Inured  to  warfare's  bloody  dole; 
But  all  at  once  he  felt  a  meek 
Compassion  stealing  down  his  cheek. 
He  turned  away  in  wild  remorse; 
Without  a  word  he  mounted  horse ; 


146  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

He  fled  the  living  and  the  dead ; 
Without  a  backward  glance  he  fled ; 
He  fled  as  fast  as  he  could  flee, 
In  horror  of  his  victory. 


xxv 

But  men  must  work  though  women  greet, 
And  surely  war  is  labor  meet 
For  brawny  heroes  fit  to  save 
Their  native  land  from  gyve  and  glaive. 
Our  chief  felt  higher  duties  draw 
Than  comforting  a  widowed  squaw ; 
He  had  a  valiant  foe  to  smite, 
A  vanished  child  to  bring  to  light. 

So,  wheeling  wide  through  leafy  lands, 
He  overpassed  the  scarlet  bands, 
Nor  halted  till  he  saw,  before, 
The  dunes  of  Narragansett  shore, 
And,  far  behind,  the  alien  hive 
He  meant  to  slay  or  take  alive. 
This  done,  he  scoured  the  lanskip  round 
To  find  a  friendly  battle-ground, 
And,  searching  wisely,  reached  a  place 
Where  Britain's  ranks  would  end  their  race, 
If  martial  lore  or  Yankee  trick 
Could  make  them  charge  at  double-quick. 

Anon  the  red  battalions  spied 
This  lonely  horseman  riding  wide, 
And,  doubting1  rustic  ambuscade, 
Deployed  their  mass  in  grim  parade, 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  147 


But  there  remained,  a  torpid  swarm, 
Nor  dared  begin  the  battle's  storm, 
Because  their  chief  had  faced  about 
And  sped  a-rear  on  secret  scout. 


XXVI 

"I  thought,"  our  Yankee  Caesar  writ, 
"They  didn't  mean  to  come  to  battle; 
An'  so  I  slunk  ahead  a  bit 
To  shake  'em  up  an'  make  'em  rattle. 
Besides,  I  had  my  ambush  sot, 
An'  couldn't  let  the  joke  miscarry, 
Because  I  thought  as  like  as  not 
'Twould  send  'em  all  to  Ancient  Harry. 

"I  took  a  canter  down  the  van, 
An'  squinted  'round,  an'  looked  'em  over. 
The  grenadiers  were  spick-an-span 
In  uniforms  as  fresh  as  clover ; 
With  streaks  of  powder  down  the  locks 
An'  queues  a-sawin'  crost  the  collar, 
An'  eyes  a-pop  because  their  stocks 
Were  tighter  than  would  let  'em  swaller ; 
All  standin'  stiff  at  shoulder-whoop, 
Their  eyes  a-front  an'  toes  a-kimber, 
Without  a  slouch  in  all  the  troop, 
A  solid  lot  of  fightin'  timber. 
The  tories  filled  the  hinder  rows, 
A  helter-skelter  lot  of  skinners, 
Exactly  fit  to  frighten  crows, 
Or  plunder  pickaninnies'  dinners. 


148  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

"Well  purty  soon  they  rcckonized 
My  uniform,  or  else  my  figger, 
An'  looked  a  leetle  mite  surprised, 
But  didn't  charge  nor  pull  a  trigger. 
So  thereupon  I  made  a  speech, 
Though  not  a  talkin'  son  of  thunder ; 
I  told  'em  they  would  never  reach 
Their  port,  an'  might  as  well  knock  under. 
I  guess  it  got  'em  hoppin'  mad ; 
For  officers  begun  to  clatter 
Around ;   an'  next  the  drummers  had 
A  lively  hint  to  start  their  batter. 

XXVII 

"Then  came  a  roar  of  British  cheers, 
Half  spiled  by  Tory  yelps  an'  screamin', 
An'  then  the  British  grenadiers, 
Full  trot,  with  baggonets  a-gleamin. 
Of  course  I  let  'em  seem  to  beat 
At  first,  to  make  'em  spry  an'  bolder, 
An'  sorter  fetched  a  sham  retreat, 
Jest  keepin'  watch  acrost  my  shoulder. 
I  tell  ye  'twas  a  splendid  sight 
To  see  the  Johnny  Bulls  a-comin', 
Their  ranks  in  line,  their  muskets  bright, 
Their  chubby  faces  full  of  fight, 
Their  colors  flyin',  drummers  drummin'. 
At  last  I  reached  the  very  spot 
Whereon  I'd  figured  out  to  flail  'em, 
They  still  a-chargin',  pipin'  hot, 
An'  bawlin'  like  the  ass  of  Baalam. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  149 

"There  was  a  slantin  pressapace 
Ten  times  as  high  as  Shiloh  steeple, 
With  zigzag  steps  adown  the  face, 
Dug  out,  I  spose,  by  neighbor  people. 
I  jumped  the  humpty  dumpty  brink, 
An'  bumpety-bumpt  from  top  to  bottom, 
A-laughin'  all  the  way  to  think 
How  sure  an'  sartinly  I'd  got  'em. 
An'  so  I  had ;  adown  the  cliff 
They  fluttered  after  their  bellwether, 
Hell-bent,  but  sojer-like  an  stiff, 
With  gaiters  swingin'  all  together. 
Of  course  they  perished  there  an'  then, 
The  very  thing  on  which  I  reckoned ; 
I  jedge  about  two  thousen'  men 
Were  smashed  to  jell  in  half  a  second. 
It  was  the  most  decisive  squabble 
I  ever  finished  single-handed ; 
It  made  the  British  army  hobble 
From  Newport  Island,  half  disbanded." 


XXVIII 

If  any  wight  thus  far  believes 
The  marvels  writ  in  Downing's  leaves, 
I  hold  his  credence  will  not  fail 
For  what  remaineth  of  the  tale, 
Although  it  soundeth  wondrous  like 
The  yarns  a  tarry  marlinspike 
Unfolds  to  open-mouthed  marines 
Or  younkers  fresh  from  harvest  scenes. 


I5O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

You  all  remember  how  the  earl 
Who  loved  our  gracious  Yankee  girl 
Had  tidings  from  a  Tory  hound 
Of  Downing  fast  asleep  and  bound. 
By  Magog!  what  a  thrill  of  joy 
Bestirred  this  knightly-minded  boy ! 
He  saw  a  glorious  chance  to  bring 
Unmeasured  good  to  land  and  king, 
And  win  perchance. — But  who  could  tell 
If  man  might  win  such  damozel? 
So,  bidding  Esther,  Fare-you-well, 
He  rode  with  all  his  trooper  race 
To  save  her  sire  from  evil  case 
And  earn  for  both  the  royal  grace. 


XXIX 

Through  woodland  wide  the  lover  hied 
As  merrily  as  man  may  ride, 
And  reached  in  middle  afternoon 
The  spot  where  Downing  rivalled  Boone; 
But  only  found  a  bloody  brave, 
A  squaw  who  delved  a  warrior's  grave, 
An  infant  giggling  'neath  the  copse 
And  broken  bonds  and  shattered  hopes. 

Then,  grieving  o'er  his  fruitless  quest, 
He  scouted  leafy  vale  and  crest 
Till  evening  poured  her  dusky  files 
Through  silent  glades  and  rustling  aisles, 
And  filled  the  wold  with  cheating  shades, 
The  paths  with  seeming  ambuscades. 


THE    GENTLE    EARL. 

At  last  he  knew  his  errand  vain, 
And,  turning  rein,  he  sought  amain 
His  captive  maid  and  footmen  train. 

But  where  were  they,  and  where  was  he  ? 
He  reached  the  spot  where  they  should  be ; 
He  reached  it  many  times  that  night ; 
Then  sought  anew  till  morning  light, 
A  sore  bewildered,  woful  wight ; 
For  every  now  and  then  there  came 
Athwart  the  gloom  a  spit  of  flame, 
And  then  he  heard  a  hissing  ball, 
A  dying  groan,  a  heavy  fall ; 
And  so  his  troopers  one  by  one 
Fell  out  until  he  rode  alone. 

Ah !-  horrible  it  was  to  hear 
Death  treading  on  his  steps  so  near, 
Nor  ever  win  the  piteous  grace 
To  front  the  monster's  savage  face, 
And  fall  as  gallant  men  desire 
With  bloody  sabre  glinting  fire. 
Ah !  horrible  to  feel  at  last 
The  cruel  bullet  driven  fast 
Through  palpitating  flesh  and  thought, 
And  conscious  life  return  to  naught. 

xxx 

The  morning  wrestled  with  the  moon 
Before  he  wakened  from  his  swoon, 
And  thought  it  slumber,  but  again 
Remembered  all  his  troopers  slain, 


152  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  found  his  breath  a  feeble  sigh, 
And  knew  himself  anear  to  die. 

A  moment's  prayer ;  again  he  drowsed, 
Or  fainted ;  but  anon  he  roused 
Because  a  shadow  veiled  the  skies ; 
And,  lifting  up  his  glassy  eyes, 
He  saw  a  giant-moulded  man, 
Of  rustic  visage  dark  with  tan, 
Attired  in  careless  martial  gear, 
Who  knelt  and  murmured  words  of  cheer. 

He  knew  the  bony  face  and  frame ; 
He  knew  the  man ;  he  called  his  name. 
He  whispered  low  with  painful  breath 
His  love,  triumphant  over  death. 
He  sighed,  "I  saved  her;   is  she  dead?" 
And  hearing,  "No,"  was  comforted. 

Then  came  a  change  upon  his  face, 
A  thankful,  gladdened,  yearning  grace, 
A  look  that  told  of  saintly  sights 
Suddenly  seen  through  morning's  lights. 
So,  gripping  fast  the  foeman's  palm, 
As  though  he  found  its  touch  a  balm, 
He  died,  forgiving,  loving,  meek, 
With  Downing's  tears  upon  his  cheek. 


XXXI 

They  folded  him  in  Shiloh  earth, 
Not  many  steps  from  Downing's  hearth. 
Yet  never  might  the  father  tell 
His  gentle  child  how  passing  well 


THE    GENTLE    EARL.  153 


That  stranger  loved  her  during  life, 
Nor  who  had  smitten  him  in  strife. 
So,  often  did  the  maid  recall 
The  lowly  knoll  and  grassy  pall, 
And  glide  within  the  churchyard  gate 
To  gaze  thereon  compassionate, 
Yet  never  knew  she  stood  above 
A  heart  that  gave  her  all  its  love, 
And  never  heard  those  pulses  stir 
That  beat  for  her  and  ceased  for  her. 


THE   ENCHANTED   VOYAGE 


IV 

THE  ENCHANTED  VOYAGE 
i 

Hurrah  for  Downing !     He  had  done 
Such  doughty  deeds  that  Freedom's  sun 
Had  often  paused  in  middle  sky 
To  hear  his  fearful  charging  cry, 
And  rushed  through  many  a  sleepless  night 
To  see  the  morn's  appointed  fight. 

Alone  our  rustic  Joshua  fought, 
Yet  such  deliverance  had  wrought 
That  all  New  England's  sacred  coasts 
Were  clear  of  Tories,  save  as  ghosts, 
While  Britons,  Hessians,  Mingos,  witches 
Had  tied,  or  filled  their  final  ditches. 

In  short,  the  Downcast  land  was  freed 
From  tyrant's  breed  and  Tophet's  creed ; 
And  every  Yankee  man  might  raise 
His  garden-sauce  and  hymns  of  praise, 
Nor  fear  lest  Tories,  sly  as  moles, 
Should  hack  his  independence  poles  ; 
Lest  purchased  bravos,  foreign-born, 
Should  cut  his  throat  and  purse  and  corn ; 
Lest  wizard  pinches,  pricks  and  beatings 
Should  interrupt  his  evening  meetings. 


158  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

II 

But  Downing  might  not  cease  his  labor, 
Nor  even  wipe  his  bloody  sabre 
While  foeman  trampled  any  tittle 
Of  earth  where  humans  guess  and  whittle. 
How  could  he  think  of  crops  and  cattle, 
How  think  of  anything  but  battle, 
While  demon-fleets  in  weird  processions 
Imported  hordes  of  Belial's  Hessians 
To  captivate  and  slay  his  fellows 
Beyond  the  Hudson's  crystal  billows, 
Or  sleep  their  beery  sleep  and  fatten 
Upon  the  sacred  isle,  Manhattan? 

Thus  roused  to  fury,  Downing  thundered 
Such  words  that  even  Shiloh  wondered, 
And  feared  lest  toils  too  elephantic 
Had  driven  the  Yankee  Sampson  frantic. 

"I'll  build,"  he  roared  with  indignation, 
"A  fleet  to  save  our  chosen  nation ; 
I'll  cruise  about  the  briny  surges 
In  spite  of  Guildhall's  demiurges  ;* 
I'll  harry  all  the  tarnal  regions 
That  breed  the  sassage-eating  legions, 
And  drive  Apollyon's  self  to  wrestle 
Like  mad  to  save  his  Hesse  Cassel." 

in 

So,  grinding  axe  and  chisel  bright, 
And  felling  trees  o'er  hill  and  dale, 

*Gog  and  Magog. 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  159 

He  joinered  out  with  Yankee  sleight 
A  squadron  of  a  single  sail 
About  as  terrible  to  meet 
As  Jefferson's  mosquito  fleet. 

But  like  ingenious  Crusoe,  he 
Forgot  that  seamen  need  the  sea, 
And  built  his  ocean-scourge  at  home, 
A  score  of  miles  from  ocean's  foam, 
Where  certainly  she  never  struck 
Her  flag  to  foeman's  better  luck, 
But  also  never  shone  in  fray, 
Nor  ever  made  a  knot  a  day; 
For  even  clippers  cannot  travel 
A  sheet  of  cobblestone  and  gravel. 

But  genius  finds  all  things  a  school, 
And  learns  from  errors  how  to  rule. 
Our  skipper's  purpose  faltered  not 
Because  he  failed  to  sail  a  lot. 
He  saw  that  he  must  seek  the  main, 
Or  launch  his  navies  all  in  vain; 
That  nothing  short  of  ocean's  roar 
Would  answer  for  a  commodore. 

Instructed  thus,  he  climbed  astride 
His  horse,  as  country  vikings  ride, 
And  journeyed  south  a  summer  day, 
Enquiring  all  the  drouthy  way 
If  any  seaport,  wharf  or  pier 
Existed  near  the  vasty  mere, 
And  also  where  a  Whiggish  grip 
Might  clapperclaw  a  Tory  ship. 


160  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 


IV 

At  last  he  spied  a  glorious  sight, 
The  bine  Atlantic,  jeweled  bright 
With  countless  ripples,  shining  keen 
As  facets  graved  in  tourmaline; 
And  just  below  the  bowldered  hill 
Whereon  he  paused  to  gaze  his  fill, 
He  found  the  very  thing  he  lacked 
To  be  an  ocean  god  in  fact. 

Beside  the  drowsy,  nodding  sedge 
That  rimmed  a  tiny  haven's  edge, 
Where  baby  billows  romped  and  laughed 
As  though  their  feather-heads  were  daft. 
He  found  a  jaunty  coasting  craft, 
(At  anchor,  though  with  canvas  spread,) 
Which  had  a  mast  and  figure-head 
And  boom  and  rudder,  like  the  one 
Himself  had  built  a  month  agone ; 
Whereat  he  thanked  the  kindly  skies 
And  claimed  the  sloop  as  lawful  prize. 

Some  thieving  tories  lurked  aboard 
Who  promptly  died  by  Freedom's  sword, 
For  vagabonds  of  traitor  kind 
Were  not  a  whit  to  Downing's  mind, 
And  rarely  fled  his  noble  hate 
Withouten  loss  of  limb  or  pate, 
As  crabs  escape  from  mortal  rout 
Because  their  legs  and  tails  pull  out. 

The  skirmish  done,  the  pirates  slain, 
Our  chieftain  snapped  the  anchor  chain 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  l6l 

And  turned  without  a  change  of  face 
To  challenge  Fortune's  weird  embrace. 
He  turned  his  back  on  natal  shore 
And  all  the  life  he  lived  before. 
Alone  he  dared  the  protean  sea ; 
Alone,  yet  confident  that  he 
Would  surely  reach  the  other  beach 
And  spoil  the  men  of  Teuton  speech, 
And  make  their  Thor  and  Odin  flee. 


But  eftersoon,  beneath  his  feet, 
He  heard  a  sharp  refrain  of  greet, 
And  then  he  thought  the  plaining  tone 
Was  like  his  darling  Esther's  own, 
The  voice  to  him  of  sweetest  sound 
In  all  our  fallen  planet's  round. 

He  leaped  below ;   he  found  her  there 
Begirt  with  many  a  link  and  snare, 
So  bound  by  that  piratic  crew 
Whose  blood  besmirched  the  rearward  blue. 
He  snapped  her  bonds  like  brittle  glass, 
Or  tender  withes  of  summer  grass, 
And  might  have  bursted  them  the  same, 
No  matter  what  their  stuff  and  frame; 
For  wondrous  wight  was  he  in  might 
As  any  giant  fame  can  cite, 
Far  huskier  than  men  we  raise 
In  these  degenerate,  mawkish  days 
When  philanthropic  frenzy  saves 


1 62  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Unworthy  types  from  clement  graves, 
And  holds  in  mischievous  subjection 
The  law  of  natural  selection. 


VI 

A  thrilling  tale  the  daughter  told, 
Right  strange  to  folk  of  modern  mould, 
Though  like  adventures  often  came 
To  gracious  maids  of  Grecian  name, 
To  Andromeda  by  the  shore, 
To  Proserpine  and  many  more. 

She  walked  at  eve  a  lonely  wood, 
Reciting  hymns  in  dreamy  mood, 
And  watching  rapt  the  boreal  lights 
That  filled  the  hollow  sky  with  flights 
Of  saintly  ghosts  in  bright  attire, 
Ascending  swift  on  wings  of  fire; 
When  all  at  once  the  glory  died 
And  shudders  through  the  forest  sighed, 
And  crickets  hushed  their  cheery  shout, 
And  fireflies  put  their  lanterns  out, 
As  though  a  mighty  fiend  drew  near 
Who  draped  effulgent  night  in  fear. 

Then  overhead  the  branches  clove, 
And  through  the  trembling  shadows  drove 
A  sombre  form  without  a  form, 
No  doubt  a  wraith  of  night  and  storm, 
Who  lifted  her  on  gloomy  plumes 
Athwart  the  evening's  ghostly  brumes 
O'er  glinting  lake  and  woodland  brown 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  163 

And  frowning  crag  and  glimmering  town, 
To  leave  her  captivate  with  those 
Who  lately  fell  by  Downing's  blows. 
Which  tale  her  father  never  doubted, 
Because,  although  his  arm  had  routed 
The  wizard  hordes  and  goblin  legions 
In  manifold  New  England  regions, 
He  knew  a  fiendish  remnant  scouted 
From  point  to  point  as  Satan's  skinners 
To  plague  the  saints  and  help  the  sinners. 


VII 

Rejoiced  to  meet  his  child  again 
And  break  anew  Apollyon's  chain, 
Our  commodore  pursued  his  cruise 
And  found  no  little  to  amuse 
A  Yankee   fond  of   information 
Who  loved  to  study  all  creation. 

Around  him,  thick  and  tame  as  sheep, 
Appeared  the  wonders  of  the  deep ; 
Sea-serpents  two  miles  long,  or  more, 
(For  Downing  often  called  it  four), 
Reefs  overrun  with  ocean  maids 
(Who  sang,  of  course,  and  twined  their  braids) 
Leviathans,  behemoths,  whales, 
And  bugling  tritons  dressed  in  scales ; 
While,  far  aloft,  flew  deadlier  forms, 
Foreboding  wrack  of  wheeling  storms ; 
For  now  a  wizard,  now  a  wraith, 
(If  Downing's  tale  deserves  our  faith) 


164  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Shot  swiftly  o'er  the  frighted  seas 
With  angry  hum  like  bumblebees, 
The  messengers  of  George's  rage 
To  Arnold,  Clinton,  Howe  and  Gage. 
Alas  that  Downing  failed  to  smite 
These  caitiffs  in  their  eldritch  flight, 
For,  peering  through  their  skinny  claws, 
They  spied  the  Thor  of  freedom's  cause 
And  guessed  aright  his  daring  plan 
To  martellate  the  Hessian  clan. 
So,  spurring  goat  and  cat  and  broom, 
They  bustled  on  through  sheen  and  gloom 
To  Arnold,  famed  and  mighty  traitor, 
Their  evil  commonwealth's  dictator, 
And  brought  him  word  of  Downing's  antic 
Attempt  to  cross  the  fierce  Atlantic. 


VIII 

As  awful  lords  of  Gaza  jeered 
And  winked  the  eye  and  wagged  the  beard, 
When  Sampson  stood  within  their  fane, 
His  tresses  shorn,  his  valor  vain, 
So  Arnold  scoffed  in  wicked  sport 
To  hear  the  warlock  crew's  report, 
Because  he  thought  New  England's  knight 
Had  surely  fought  his  final  fight. 

But  Arnold  was  a  soul  of  power 
Who  might  not  waste  a  golden  hour 
Tn  counting  chickens  yet  unhatched, 
Or  scalping  foemen  not  despatched. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  165 

At  once  he  launched  his  wizard  swarm 
To  seek  the  dervish  fiends  of  storm, 
And  bid  them  maul  that  daring  yawl 
With  crashing  wave  and  hissing  squall. 

Eftsoon  the  ocean  imps  collected 
And  wrought  as  Arnold's  trolls  directed, 
On  windy  circles  fiercely  wheeling, 
Forever  tow'rd  the  centre  stealing, 
Arousing,  lifting,  driving  ocean 
In  clashing  bursts  of  mad  commotion, 
A  screaming  whirl  of  monstrous  revels, 
The  cvclone-dance,  the  dance  of  devils. 


IX 

It  was  as  though  a  second  birth 
Of  demonkind  had  come  on  earth, 
Such  mongrel,  goblin  clamors  rose, 
Such  roar  of  ragings,  wail  of  woes : 
Insane  blasphemings,  madder  prayers  ; 
Infernal  paeans,  fierce  despairs ; 
Derisive  laughters,  bacchant  yells ; 
Exultings  of  triumphant  hells ; 
Defiances  of  crests  to  crests ; 
Appeals  for  mercy,  hoarse  behests ; 
Laments  of  monstrous  agonies ; 
Huzzas  of  vast  debaucheries ; 
Refrains  that  ever  seemed  to  weep ; 
Responsive  snarls  of  Titan  sleep ; 
Mad  dialogues  of  surge  with  surge, 
Half  heard  athwart  a  booming  dirge ; 


1 66  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Extatic  bellows  from  abysses, 
Commixed  with  groaning ;  snaky  hisses ; 
Discordant  babblings  ;   senseless  bleats 
Of  griffins  ;   hoots  of  crazed  afreets  ; 
Mysterious  sentences,  half  spoken ; 
Weird  oracles  in  accents  broken; 
A  Cosmos  shouting  without  thought; 
Replies  of  Chaos,  meaning  naught ; 
The  brutish  language  of  the  great 
Sea- furies  inarticulate ; 
The  strivings  of  the  Deep  to  reach 
Some  anthropoid,  or  devilish  speech. 


But,  wild  as  that  alarum  was, 
The  sight  surpassed  ;  without  a  pause 
The  tempest-imps  tore  ocean's  face 
To  flying  tatters  frail  as  lace ; 
Like  hounds  they  leaped  upon  their  prey 
And  scattered  it  in  clots  of  spray. 
The  billows  reeled  before  their  wrath  ; 
The  surges  cringed ;   the  cyclone's  path 
Was  over  dinted  helms  of  waves 
That  stooped  away  like  beaten  slaves ; 
It  hurled  them  tumbling,  groveling,  prone 
It  trampled  them  ;  it  reigned  alone. 

The  ocean's  visage  altered ;  spells, 
Mutations,  marvels,  miracles 
Succeeded  swift ;  at  every  glance 
It  changed  its  awful  countenance. 
No  breaker  wallowed  there  but  bore 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  1 67 

Marmorean  streaks  and  dapplings  hoar, 

With  whirlpools  twirling  up  and  down 

From  yeasty  base  to  feathery  crown  ; 

While  fierce  explosions,  far  below, 

Uplifted  floods  of  indigo, 

One  moment  glassy,  dark  and  cool 

As  any  forest-bowered  pool ; 

Then  swiftly  folded,  wrinkled,  curled, 

And  gone  forever  from  the  world. 

But  mainly  ail  was  sheeted  white. 
The  azure  quailed  ;   a  dazzling  flight 
And  flood  of  lather  oversloughed 
The  billows  with  a  ghastly  shroud ; 
And  underneath  the  pallor  rolled 
Insensate  monsters  manifold ; 
Though,  scarcely  dead,  they  rose  apace 
And  trampled  out  their  breathless  race. 
Anear,  or  yonder,  drove  serene, 
Resplendant  slopes  of  crystal  green, 
That  seemed  as  hard  as  mountain-pent, 
But  ere  another  glance  were  rent 
To  utter  froth,  and  then  again 
Arose  and  speeded  o'er  the  main. 

Tiara'd  breakers  glinted  by, 
Like  charging  Titans ;   then  a  cry, 
A  snarling,  hissing,  strangled  breath 
Of  agony,  announced  their  death. 
But  ere  they  vanished,  others  stood 
Above  them ;  that  Antaean  brood 
Renewed  from  every  fall  the  strife; 
A  ceaseless  death  fed  ceaseless  life. 


1 68  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 


XI 

Man  seemed  an  atom  here.     His  power 
To  nothing  turned  in  ocean's  hour 
Of  wrath  and  rule.     That  slender  bark, 
Of  late  so  like  a  skimming  lark, 
Was  soon  a  mastless,  drifting  wreck 
And  barely  showed  its  writhing  deck 
Above  the  flaked  and  sheeted  spume, 
That  flashed  like  Death's  eternal  plume. 

It  struggled  not ;   its  strengfh  was  done ; 
It  had  the  fainting  lurch  of  one 
Who  reels  through  lines  of  smiting  foes 
Half  conscious  of  their  jeers  and  blows. 
The  billows,  watchful,  swift  of  spring, 
Pursued  with  hate  this  helpless  thing, 
Attending  it  as  painted  braves 
Hunt  bleeding  prisoners  to  graves. 

Titanic  sea-gods  jostled  it ; 
Demonic,  scoffing  muzzles  spit 
Against  it  ere  they  hurtled  past ; 
Unshapely,  wallowing  monsters  massed 
Their  quivering  bulks  to  overturn  ; 
Above  the  prow,  above  the  stern, 
Chimaeras,  dropping  clots  of  foam 
Gnashed  threat'nings ;  watery  imp  and  gnome 
Waved  hatred  while  they  struggled  by 
From  hither  to  the  further  sky ; 
In  all  the  reeling,  howling  flight 
No  pity  sounded ;   naught  but  spite. 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE. 
XII 

So  morning  went,  and  afternoon, 
And  night  withouten  star  or  moon ; 
So  likewise  all  the  morrow  passed, 
'Mid  hissing  spray  and  screaming  blast. 

But  when  a  second  sunset  fired 
Its  western  altar,  greatly  tired 
The  wind-enchanters  seemed  to  be, 
And  smoothness  slid  along  the  sea, 
The  rushing,  rocking,  toppling  peaks, 
The  watery  snarls,  the  windy  shrieks, 
The  cyclop  anarchy  of  ocean 
Subsided,  failed  in  voice  and  motion, 
Till  mellow  twilight's  dwindling  bounds 
Revealed  but  rounded  azure  mounds, 
Atlantic  prairies  rolling  wide 
Their  gleamy  downs  through  eventide. 

And  now  our  castaways  might  sleep, 
As  men  have  slumbered  on  the  deep 
Who  knew  not  whether  morning's  light 
Awaited  them,  or  endless  night. 
They  slept,  but  not  without  a  word 
Of  prayer  from  Esther ;  was  it  heard  ? 
Perchance,  for  when  she  oped  her  eyes 
She  lived  and  saw  the  blessed  skies. 
The  night  had  vanished  ;  morning  shone ; 
Her  father  lived ;   she  heard  his  tone, 
And  marveled  why  he  talked  alone. 

Again  she  would  have  drowsed  away, 
But  presently  she  heard  him  say, 


I/O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Disjointed  words  of  marveling, 
As  one  who  spies  a  wondrous  thing. 
In  Yankee  dialect  he  spake, 
And  thus  she  heard  him,  half  awake. 

"Am  I  alive,  or  dead  as  Cyrus? 
Is  that  a  ship  of  ancient  Tyrus  ? 
Or  have  the  Hindoos  took  a  notion 
To  scoot  in  temples  round  the  ocean?" 


XIII 

She  leaped  a-foot ;   she  reached  his  side; 
She  glanced  along  the  kindling  tide ; 
And  there,  beneath  the  gracious  dawn 
That  draped  the  east  with  rosy  lawn, 
She  saw  a  weirder  spectacle 
Than  ever  wizard  wrought  by  spell. 
Did  necromancy  rule  the  deep? 
Had  cycles  vanished  with  her  sleep  ? 
Had  future  centuries  arisen, 
Or  aeons  dead  escaped  their  prison  ? 
Was  time  a  chaos?     Were  the  ages 
Commixed  like  haply  gathered  pages? 

A  furlong  off,  beneath  the  lea, 
Slow-heaving  o'er  the  heaving  sea, 
Advanced  beneath  the  orient  blaze 
A  galleon  of  ancient  days ; 
A  vessel  such  as  Holland  hands 
Outfitted  when  Columbian  lands 
Were  leafy  wilds  where  beasts  and  men 
Held  daily  strife  for  food  and  den  ; 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  I /I 

A  craft  like  those  ye  now  behold 
In  tapestries  bedimmed  with  mould, 
Or  tomes  that  tell  of  customs  dead, 
Or  vagrom  dreams  of  painter's  head. 
Yet,  while  so  fabulous  in  guise, 
She  lumbered  there  to  mortal  eyes 
As  real  a  ship  as  ever  tacked, 
A  solid  bulk,  an  oaken  fact. 


XIV 

Yea  more ;   she  seemed  a  ship  of  might ; 
Her  tops  were  turrets,  pierced  for  fight; 
Her  stem  and  stern  like  castles  towered ; 
Along  her  bulwark  cannon  lowered ; 
While  cutlass,  pike  and  arquebuse 
Were  ranged  amidst  for  boarding  use. 

Her  folk  were  many ;    all  along 
The  forward  railing  leaned  a  throng 
Of  mariners ;   and  others  bowed 
From  dizzy  top  and  yard  and  shroud ; 
All  gazing  gravely  on  the  wreck 
With  settled  face  and  craning  neck, 
The  stoniest  crew  of  men  that  e'er 
Did  stare  athwart  an  earthly  mere. 
And  every  speechless  gazer  bore 
Such  garb  as  Holland  used  of  yore ; 
Broad-leafed  hats  with  pointed  peaks, 
High-colored  doublets,  ample  breeks, 
With  shoulder-piece,  or  morion, 
Or  breastplate  glinting  back  the  sun  ; 


I/2  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

All  quaint  as  maskers  at  a  ball, 
Or  mummers  ruffed  for  carnival, 
Or  waxen  mannikins  that  show 
The  raimentings  of  long  ago. 

Yet  these  were  but  a  common  brood. 
Upon  the  quarter-castle  stood 
A  group  of  three,  in  velvet  clad, 
Who  nodded  ostrich  plumes,  and  had 
A  noble  port  of  haught  command, 
Like  lordly  men  of  knightly  land. 
Of  these  the  tallest  lifted  head, 
And  skyward  gazed  as  though  he  said 
A  word  of  thankfulness  or  prayer ; 
Then,  turning  tow'rd  our  Yankee  pair, 
Extended  hand,  and  mutely  gave 
Assurance  that  he  came  to  save. 


xv 

Thereon   did   puzzled   Downing   stammer 
His  wonderment  in  Shiloh  grammar. 

"May  I  be  tomahawked/'  he  blurted, 
"If  Satan's  kingdom  aint  converted ! 
I've  offen  heerd  of  hell  a-floatin', 
An'  didn't  bleeve  in  no  sich  boatin' ; 
But  here  it  comes  as  plain  as  blazes, 
A-sayin'  prayers  an'  singin'  praises. 
For  either  Downing's  lost  his  reason, 
An'  needs  confinement  for  a  season, 
Or  we  behold  that  fiendish  notion, 
The  Flyin'  Dutchman — plague  of  ocean — 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE. 

Who  allays  keeps  a-sailin'-sailin', 
To  pick  the  puss  of  trade  an'  whalin. 

"But  now,  it  seems,  his  will  an'  inwards 
Incline  no  longer,  hell-an-sinwards, 
If  one  can  jedge  a  feller's  goin' 
By  pleasant  ways  an'  pious  showin'. 
So  let  us  hope  the  spangled  creetur 
Will  pitch  his  hymn  to  shortish  metre 
An'  launch  his  wherry  hurry-scurry 
To  snake  us  out  of  wet  an'  worry. 
If  not,  I  doubt  his  whole  profession 
An'  count  him  nawthin'  but  a  Hessian, 
For  gospel  talk  withouten  kindness 
Is  ruther  wuss  than  pagan  blindness 
An'  fetches  neither  scrapes  nor  thankys 
From  native-born,  enlightened  Yankees." 


XVI 

Erelong  a  jolly  boat  was  lowered 
Beneath  the  stranger's  quarterboard, 
A  portly  craft  of  heavy  jowl, 
Exceeding  like  the  famous  bowl 
Wherein  the  trustful  Gotham  sages 
Went  grandly  down  to  future  ages. 

Next  Downing  spied  four  sailors  glide 
Aslant  the  galleon's  bellied  side, 
And  after  them  the  lordly  chief 
Who  lately  signalled  him  relief; 
Then  saw  them  feather  oars  and  urge 
Their  rolling  shallop  o'er  the  surge 


1/4  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Until  it  smote  his  sunken  fail, 
No  ghostly  bark  of  vapors  pale, 
But  stiff  with  oak  and  clinker  mail. 

No  phantoms,  either,  were  the  rowers, 
But  stalwart  as  their  ashen  oars ; 
And  he  who  bore  the  ostrich  plume 
Had  surely  never  known  the  tomb ; 
For,  leaping  to  the  wreck,  he  strode 
With  sounding  steps  in  mortal  mode. 

A  man  he  was,  in  blood  and  bone; 
A  very  man,  right  nobly  grown ; 
His  -visage  flushed  with  younker  health ; 
His  glances  azure ;  while  a  wealth 
Of  curling  sunshine  overhung 
His  ivory  brow  and  signed  him  young. 


XVII 

A  man  he  truly  seemed ;   and  yet 
Some  awful  variance  was  set 
Betwixt  this  man  and  other  men, 
The  gladsome  folk  we  daily  ken. 
You  might  have  fancied  him  a  soul 
From  distant  stellar  realms  of  dole 
Who  never  happed  before  on  earth, 
Nor  heard  of  Bethlem's  wondrous  birth ; 
For  utter  sorrow  brimmed  his  eyes 
And  choked  his  breath  with  many  sighs, 
As  though  he  knew  the  wrath  to  come, 
But  knew  not  how  to  fly  therefrom. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  175 

Moreover,  man  is  rarely  seen 
So  strangely  meek  in  act  and  mien ; 
For,  baring  solemnly  his  head, 
He  knelt  and  humbly  pressed  his  red 
And  comely  mouth  against  the  deck; 
And  many  times  he  kissed  the  wreck 
With  choking  sobs  and  whisperings 
Of  incommunicable  things ; 
As  one  who,  chancing  on  the  spot, 
Where  erst  he  aimed  a  mortal  shot, 
May  kneel  above  the  hidden  corse 
In  sudden  pang  of  hot  remorse, 
And  swear  repentance  there  of  crime 
And  holier  life  for  coining  time. 

At  last  he  rose  with  calmer  face, 
As  though  a  messenger  of  grace 
Had  swiftly  flown  from  mercy's  throne 
With  pardoning  answer  to  his  moan. 
Then,  turning  tow'rd  our  castaways, 
Who  stared  the  while  in  dumb  amaze, 
He  bent  his  lips  to  Esther's  wrist, 
Then  likewise  kist  her  father's  fist, 
The  meekest  wight  that  ever  laid 
A  kiss  on  hand  of  man  or  maid. 


XVIII 

Such  courtesy  did  much  surprise 
A  Downing  reared  in  rustic  guise. 
He  never  saw  the  like  before, 
Nor  heard  thereof  in  days  of  vore. 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

So,  partly  awed,  yet  more  perplexed 
And  ill  at  ease,  and  therefore  vexed, 
He  glumly  said,  "My  Christian  brother, 
Your  meaning's  dark,  an'  seems  to  me 
We'd  sooner  understand  each  other 
If  we  should  let  the  bussing  be. 
Dessay  there's  fun  in  scrapes  an'  kisses 
To  them  that's  broughten  up  to  pass 
Their  extry  hours,  like  city  misses, 
A-smirkin  ''fore  a  lookin-glass. 
But  Goodness  didn't  light  our  tapers 
In  deestricks  given  to  monkey-capers, 
An'  we  admire  these  fancy  manners 
As  much  as  Satan  does  hosanners. 

"So,  waivin'  furder  bows  an'  curchies, 
Explain  with  no  uncertain  sound 
Whether  your  ark  a  fort  or  church  is 
An'  what  you  mean  by  droppin'  round. 
But  while  you're  thinkin'  up  your  answer 
I'll  briefly  state  that  I'm  a  man,  sir, 
Disposed  to  be  almighty  tender 
About  the  p'int  of  no-surrender." 


XIX 

The  stranger  "started,  not  in  spite, 
But  marvel  mixed  with  sharp  delight, 
Like  one  who  wins  a  pard'ning  word 
Instead  of  mortal  thrust  incurred. 

Then,  taking  Downing's  hand,  he  said, 
"I  trow  that  thou  art  English  bred. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE. 

Thank  God  that  I  may  hear  agen 
The  blessid  speech  of  living  men ! 
Thank  God  that  men  without  a  curse 
May  welcome  me,  so  long  perverse, 
The  slave  of  sin  for  many  a  year, 
The  haunting  fiend  of  many  a  mere !" 

This  utterance  of  gladness  rung 
In  syllables  of  English  tongue, 
But  English  other  than  we  know, 
A  mother-speech  of  yore-ago. 
The  tones  were  sweet.     But  strangely  old 
They  seemed,  as  though  the  funeral  mould 
Of  centuries  had  gathered  round 
The  words.     They  had  a  ghostly  sound 
That  brought  to  mind  the  eldritch  lay 
And  requiem  of  ivies  gray, 
Lamenting  o'er  a  riven  keep 
Whose  knights  are  dust,  whose  bugles  sleep. 

At  first  the  sense  was  dimly  marked; 
But  presently,  as  Downing  harked 
And  fiercely  strove  to  comprehend, 
He  saw  a  beam  of  meaning  wend 
Its  way  along  the  words ;   and  soon 
The  purport  sparkled  clear  as  noon ; 
Although  the  wight  who  understood 
Deemed  it  patter  of  alien  brood ; 
Nor  guessed  that  thus  his  fathers  spake, 
Xor  quite  believed  himself  awake. 

As  one  can  hear  discourse  in  sleep 
That  moveth  him  to  curse  and  weep, 
Yet  cannot  answer,  though  he  sighs 


178  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  grimaces  to  mouth  replies, 

So  Downing  heard  his  fearful  guest 

With  palsied  tongue  and  heaving  breast ; 

And  when  the  Flying  Dutchman  bade 

Our  Yankees  follow,  they  obeyed 

And  eftersoon  set  foot  upon 

That  ever-cruising  galleon, 

The  weirdest  visit,  I  opine, 

That  ever  was  on  turf  or  brine. 


xx 

Our  chief,  in  column  after  column 
Of  what  he  calls  his  Seckont  Vollum, 
Relates  such  brags  anent  this  galley 
That  skeptic  spirits  dare  to  rally 
The  wonder-tale  as  merely  fable, 
A  crumb  purloined  from  Arthur's  Table. 
But  Downing's  self  and  Downing's  labors 
Are  testified  by  trusty  neighbors, 
By  men  who  sate  in  deacon's  places, 
Distinguished  for  their  gifts  and  graces, 
Their  scholarship  in  orthodoxies 
And  zeal  with  contribution  boxes ; 
And  we,  who  take  their  witness  kindly, 
Believe  his  blague  and  quote  it  blindly. 

"She  was,"  he  writes,  "the  queerest  notion 
That  ever  wabbled  round  the  ocean; 
The  awkardest  sea-goin'  creetur 
Sence  Pharaoh  an'  Simon  Peter. 
The  stern  an'  fokesle  histed  uppards 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  I  79 

Consid'able  like  mons'ous  cuppards, 
In  consequence  of  which  her  figger 
Was  like  a  crescent  moon,  though  bigger. 
She  kerried  every  kind  of  wep'm 
That  Granther  Noah  took  as  kep'm, 
From  Tubal  Cain's  harpoons  an'  hammers 
To  muskets  made  by  Amsterdammers, 
With  cannons  built  of  wroughten  metal 
No  thicker  than  a  potash  kettle, 
A  sight  more  suitable  for  bustin' 
Than  givin  enemies  a  dustin'." 

XXI 

"But  sartinly  the  strangest  show 
Aboard  was  officers  an'  sailors, 
A  gang  of  younkers  all  aglow, 
But  dressed  by  dead  an'  buried  tailors. 
They  had  a  far-off,  hopeful  gaze, 
Reminding  me  of  Eden's  glory, 
Or,  ruther  more,  of  pious  ways 
That  lead  to  Heaven's  upper  story; 
Besides,  they  had  a  gentle  sadness, 
A-glimpsin'  through  a  trustin'  gladness, 
A  gleam  of  meek  an'  patient  graces 
We  offen  see  on  corpses'  faces; 
By  which,  though  not  a  holy  liver, 
I  found  it  easy  to  diskiver 
The  creeturs  were  in  great  affliction 
An'  labored  under  deep  conviction, 
Yet  entertained  a  hope  to  die  on 
The  steep  an'  narrow  road  to  Zion. 


l8O  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

"Well,  trompin'  on  the  skipper's  shadder, 
We  ambled  down  the  cabin  ladder 
An'  found  a  gorgis-lookin'  chimber, 
All  carpentered  in  whittled  timber, 
A  dozen  paces  square  by  measure 
An'  bilin'  over  full  of  treasure ; 
For  instance,  cuppards,  chists  an'  tables 
Of  ivory  an'  fragrant  lumbers, 
As  fine  as  dreams  in  schoolboy  slumbers, 
Or  what  we  hear  about  in  fables ; 
With  trinkets  thick  as  Jews  in  Numbers,— 
Tyaries,  bracelets,  silver  flagons, 
Gold-mounted  gods  an'  jeweled  dragons. 


XXII 

"An'  right  among  the  raree-shows, 
Two  youngling  men  an'  one  young  woman. 
(Arrayed  in  go-to-meetin'  close), 
So  hansome  they  were  skussly  human ; 
The  Flyin'  Dutchman's  near  relations, 
Who  shooken  hands  an'  offered  cheers 
With  such  a  buzz  of  salutations 
As  ruther  stumped  our  Yankee  ears. 

The  christenins  were  Dutch  to  me, 
An'  drefful  tough  to  spell,  I  reckon. 
The  skipper  interduced  ;  says  he, 
'My  name  is  Hendrick  Vanderdecken ; 
My  cousins  are  these  other  two; 
The  first  is  Dircksen  Vanderdryfe; 
The  other,  Arendt  Vanderloo, 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  l8l 

And  this,  Cornelie,  is  his  wifey.'— 

Or  so  I  understood  the  titles, 

Although,  perhaps,  I've  missed  the  spellin' ; 

For  Dutch  is  spoken  from  the  vitals 

An'  hard  to  write  bevond  all  tellin.' ': 


XXIII 

Thus  Downing  found  himself  the  guest 
Of  ocean's  wanderer  and  pest, 
The  fated  guide  of  murderous  waves, 
The  haunting  ghoul  of  coraled  graves. 

High  dialogue  the  strangers  held, 
As  suited  men  of  hoary  eld. 
Of  that  ennobled  age  they  spoke 
When  all  Iberia's  empire  broke 
In  floods  of  steel  on  Holland's  shore, 
And  backward  rolled,  a  flood  of  gore ; 
When  Orange  cheered  the  slender  band 
That  stood  for  freedom,  faith  and  land, 
And  cumbered  breach  and  field  and  sea 
With  dead  who  left  their  country  free; 
When  martyred  cities,  clothed  in  fire, 
Saw  victory's  crown  above  the  pyre ; 
And  vain  was  Parma's  wondrous  art, 
And  vainly  burst  Don  Juan's  heart. 

For  long  our  hero  speechless  heard, 
With  mouth  agape  like  youngling  bird, 
Debating  how  such  lordly  names 
And  gallant  deeds  and  shining  fames 
Could  be  no  less  unknown  to  him 


1 82  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Than  things  beyond  creation's  brim. 
At  last  he  stammered,  musing  much, 
"I  reckon  those  were  ancient  Dutch ; 
An'  though  I'm  but  a  middlin'  schollard 
In  history,  I  think  I  know, 
For  sartin  sure,  the  graveyard  swaller'd 
Their  strength  an'  glory  long  ago ; 
For  Holland's  sign  come  down  a  story 
When  Britain  took  to  keepin'  tavern,* 
An'  Spain  has  got  as  weak  an'  hoary 
As  giant  Pope  in  Bunyan's  cavern. 
So,  on  the  whole  an'  'barrin'  errors, 
I  ruther  guess  those  famous  coots 
Charged  bagnets  on  the  king  of  terrors 
An'  died,  like  sojers,  in  their  boots." 

XXIV 

Then  golden-haired  Cornelie  cried, 
"Alas !  it  may  be  all  have  died. 
But  all?     Do  all  my  kinsmen  sleep? 
The  little  ones  who  scarce  could  creep  ? 
My  brother  with  the  flaxen  head  ? 
How  may  it  be  that  all  are  dead?" 

Then  Esther,  witnessing  her  grief, 
And  knowing  naught  could  bring  relief, 
Inclined  her  brow  and  sobbed  aloud, 
While  valiant  Downing  also  bowed 
To  hide  the  burning  drops  that  ran 

*  In  New  England  the  place  of  taverner  was  formerly 
held  by  town  authority,  and  was  a  position  of  trust  and 
honor. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  183 

Adown  his  cheek  of  rugged  tan. 

For,  stalwart  though  he  was,  and  grim 

To  hardnesses  that  touched  but  him, 

He  might  not  spy  distress  anear 

Nor  see  his  daughter  shed  a  tear, 

But  sympathy  would  smite  him  through, 

And  he  would  weep,  as  angels  do. 

Meanwhile  the  others  held  askance 
With  folded  arms  and  lowered  glance, 
Unflinching  shapes  of  calm  despair, 
Without  a  tear,  without  a  prayer, 
As  kenning  well  that  no  lament 
Nor  plea  would  ease  their  punishment. 

But  shortly  Vanderdecken  gave 
This  comment,  ^Welcome  be  the  grave !" 

Then  Vanderloo  besought:  "My  own, 
My  sweet  Cornelie,  cease  thy  moan ! 
Thy  kin  have  bowed  to  God's  decree ; 
Long  since  they  crossed  the  Shining  Sea. 
Gone  are  the  children,  like  their  games ; 
Forgot,  perchance,  their  very  names. 
Yet,  dearest  one,  take  heart  of  grace, 
For  they  will  meet  us  face  to  face, 
Will  meet  and  greet  us  when  our  feet 
Find  rest  before  the  mercy-seat." 

xxv 

''Yea,"  Vanderdecken  sighed.     ''We  know 
The  truth,  at  last.     And  be  it  so!" 

Then,  turning  to  his  guests,  he  said, 
"Two  hundred  stormy  years  have  sped 


184  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

About  this  world  of  weary  wail 
Since  we  loosened  the  homeward  sail ; 
Yet  still  we  plough  a  shoreless  foam, 
And  still  we  cannot  find  our  home. 
Ye  marvel  such  a  thing  can  be. 
But  hearken !  listen !  hear !  and  ye 
Shall  know  how  God  can  discipline, 
How  swift  his  anger  follows  sin. 

I  was  distract  with  love  of  gold, 
And  like  Iscariot  I  sold 
My  peace,  my  happiness,  myself, 
My  fellow  men,  my  God,  for  pelf. 
I  was  distract  for  it  because 
It  makes  and  shatters  human  laws ; 
Because  it  gives  one  lordly  place 
And  lordly  power  among  his  race; 
Because  it  makes  one  like  a  king. 
Wherever  shone  the  eldritch  thing 
I  hasted  there  with  deadly  sword, 
Or  deadlier  guile,  to  swell  my  hoard, 
Nor  cared  though  tears  and  blood  bestained 
The  sheen  of  every  sequin  gained. 

But  oftentimes,  from  year  to  year, 
Unearthly  whispers  reached  my  ear, 
Fell  tenderly  through  starlit  calms, 
Or  noontides  breathing  spice  and  balms, 
Slid  weirdly  over  burnished  seas, 
Where  nothing  was,  nor  ship  nor  breeze, 
So  weirdly  came,  so  weirdly  fled, 
I  looked  to  see  the  misty  dead. 
And  what  the  whisper  sighed  was  this : 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  185 

'Thou  sellest  thine  eternal  bliss ; 
Erelong-  wilt  thou  be  called  again 
To  choose  betwixt  thy  God  and  gain ; 
Then,  turning  still  from  ways  of  worth, 
Thv  doom  shall  wonderstrike  the  earth.' 


XXVI 

''Yet  none  the  less — O  heart  of  flint! 
I  gathered  gold  withouten  stint, 
Nor  paused  amid  my  vampyre  chase, 
Nor  ceased  to  scorn  the  heavenly  grace, 
And  like  myself  I  made  the  men 
Who  share  my  fortune  now  as  then. 

This  galley  freighted  we  with  groans 
And  bloody  tears  of  Indian  zones, 
Transformed  by  cruelty  and  lies 
To  jewels,  gold  and  merchandise. 
Then,  hoping  greater  gain  if  we 
Might  quickly  overspan  the  sea, 
I  swore  that  neither  love,  nor  fear, 
Nor  law  divine,  nor  human  tear 
Should  make  me  slacken  sail  or  veer 
In  all  my  voyage.     Demon  oath ! 
Fulfilled  with  more  than  demon  troth, 
And  punished  by  the  watchful  power 
Of  Him  who  knows  the  sparrow's  hour. 

Upon  the  hundreth  prosperous  day 
We  bellied  swift  along  our  way, 
Dividing  Holland  seas  at  last 
And  vaunting  over  perils  past ; 


1 86  THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Upon  that  gracious  day,  as  morn 
Shook  over  earth  her  golden  horn, 
Enriching  all  the  east  with  skies 
That  fitter  seemed  for  Paradise ; 
Upon  that  gracious  morn  we  spied, 
A  furlong  from  our  hissing  side, 
A  wreck  that  wallowed  deadly  deep, 
Whereon  a  castaway  did  weep 
And  wring  his  hands  athwart  the  wave, 
Beseeching  us  to  pause  and  save. 


XXVII 

"Cornelie,  then,  my  cousin's  wife, 
Made  intercession  for  that  life 
With  such  a  piercing  woman-wail 
That  all  who  harkened  turned  a-pale 
And  stared  askant  with  sullen  brow, 
And  muttered,  'Will  he  break  the  vow?' 
For  every  heart  was  hard  with  greed 
To  win  the  promised  gain  of  speed. 

Ah,  maddened  soul!     I  said  her  Nay, 
And  briskly  foamed  along  my  way, 
While  swifter  still  that  vessel  span 
And  flyted  from  the  sight  of  man, 
Although  I  know  not  how  it  fled, 
If  underneath  or  overhead ; 
For  where  it  span  a  wondrous  light 
Of  dazzling  pinions  dimmed  the  sight, 
And  when  the  glory  skyward  shone 
The  mere  was  clear  and  we  alone. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  187 

The  deed  was  done,  my  sin  complete, 
And  vengeance  came  on  speedy  feet ; 
For  scarcely  could  I  turn  to  gaze 
Along  the  prow  for  landward  haze 
Before  a  flying  'larum  passed 
That  cried  above  our  tallest  mast : 
'Behold,  O  waves,  behold  these  men, 
And  hold  them  till  I  come  agen !' 

Then  wept  Cornelie,  'We  are  lost, 
For  that  was  Jesus  tempest-tost, 
And  thou  deniedst  him,  and  we 
Are  dungeoned  in  a  gateless  sea.' 

Had  any  man  such  omen  spoke, 
I  would  have  dealt  him  mortal  stroke, 
So  arrogant  was  I  in  mind, 
And  sudden  fierce  to  humankind. 
Yet  soothfully  had  she  divined 
Our  crowning  sin  and  coming  woe. 
Alas !  as  often  haps  below, 
The  innocent  was  doomed  to  share 
Sin's  punishment  and  sin's  despair. 


XXVIII 

"The  malediction  hath  not  failed, 
For,  since  it  larumed,  we  have  sailed — 
O  Jesus !  how  we  sail  thy  seas 
To  win  a  port  that  ever  flees, 
To  win  the  land  that  gave  us  birth  ; 
Yea,  that  or  any  alien  earth ! 


I  88  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

How  often  hath  our  galley  spanned 
A  world  where  many  cities  stand ; 
Where  gladsome  creatures  throng  the  ways 
And  thankful  belfries  call  to  praise ; 
Where  flowrets  bloom  and  branches  swing 
And  insects  hum  and  birdlets  sing; 
Where  even  brutes  tread  fragrant  turf 
And  lusty  shores  withstand  the  surf; 
How  often  round  such  pleasant  world, 
How  woful  often  have  we  whirled, 
And  found  it  but  a  howling  nest 
Of  demon  waves  that  never  rest ! 

All  earthly  forms,  all  coastwise  shapes, 
The  haughty  cliffs,  the  prowling  capes, 
The  very  mountains  huge  and  hoar 
That  sentried  otherwhiles  the  shore, 
And  beckoned  us  from  zone  to  zone, 
Have  vanished  into  graves  unknown. 
Yea,  fiery  isles  that  sunward  rolled 
Their  solemn  smokings,  fold  on  fold, 
Like  giants  burning  sacrifice 
And  waving  incense  tow'rd  the  skies ; 
Or,  seen  through  oceanic  night, 
Now  panted  breaths  of  filmy  light, 
Now  held  a  lurid  shaft  aloft 
Whose  chapter  reached  the  starry  croft ; 
These,  too,  have  flyted  from  their  posts 
As  utterly  as  shriven  ghosts. 

The  elfin  picture-lands  that  slide 
From  beetling  cliff  or  mountain  side 
Deep  into  gulfs  of  liquid  steel ; 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE. 

And,  smiling  far  below  the  keel, 
Bewitch  the  sailor  with  their  guiles 
Until  he  sees  hesperian  isles 
Of  verdant  grove  and  sunny  knoll, 
And  hears  their  belfries  call  his  soul ; 
E'en  these  enchantments  of  the  deep, 
These  wizard  dreams  of  ocean's  sleep, 
We  sought  with  care  through  many  seas, 
And  found  them  not — not  even  these! 


XXIX 

"No  frothing  jowl  of  wolfish  main 
But  we  have  fronted  it  in  vain. 
No  shouting  surge,  no  snarling  bar, 
Will  fling  the  gates  of  death  ajar. 
No  bloody  haunt  of  pagan  men, 
No  pirate's  lair,  no  monster's  den, 
Will  suffer  us  to  draw  anigh, 
And  hail  its  cruelty,  and  die. 
No  land  we  meet — no  land — no  land! 
No,  not  the  humblest  beach  of  sand. 
No  matter  how  we  span  its  girth, 
We  cannot  find  the  winsome  earth, 
Nor  aught  but  ocean's  heaving  graves, 
An  endless  charnelhouse  of  waves. 
Oh,  what  a  hell  the  deep  may  be ! 
There  is  no  horror  like  the  sea. 

Time  also  vanished,  like  the  shore ; 
Omniscient  Time  knew  us  no  more. 
We  wrote  in  books  the  dreary  days 


THE   DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Till  record  stopped  in  stark  amaze. 
How  might  we  credit  such  a  thing! 
The  months  advanced  on  tireless  wing; 
The  years,   the   lustres,   rilled   their   lot; 
We  reckoned  them,  believing  not. 
We  numbered,  numbered,  numbered  oft, 
Nor  yet  believed,  but  rather  scoffed ; 
Denying  that  our  woful  breath 
Was  overdue  to  cheated  death; 
Denying  that  the  friends  we  sought, 
The  foes  we  dreaded,  all  were  nought. 


"Another  horror!     We  were  doomed 
To  gaze  upon  the  wrecks  that  boomed 
And  signalled  vainly  for  relief. 
Wherever  tore  the  ambushed  reef, 
Wherever  gorged  the  stealthy  shark, 
Wherever  lurched  a  riven  bark, 
WTe  hasted,  spite  of  helm  and  sails, 
And  endless  wrath  of  heady  gales. 
No  idle  prayers,  no  hopeless  sighs, 
No  last  despairs,  no  bubbling  cries, 
Of  ocean  folk  beneath  the  skies, 
But  there  we  ride,  we  ever  ben 
Beholders  curst  of  living  men. 

No  rest !  no  calm  !     Forever  bruised 
By  fronting  storms,  our  galley  cruised 
Through  tropic  blaze  and  polar  cold, 
Through  mighty  meres,  unguessed  of  old, 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE. 


From  foaming  waste  to  foaming  waste 
With  headlong,  blinding,  madding  haste, 
Only  to  witness  everywhere 
Incessant  woe  and  wild  despair. 


XXXI 

"Two  hundred  years  we  fared  alone. 
Two  hundred  years  my  heart  was  stone, 
So  wicked  hard  I  would  not  deign 
To  utter  moan,  nor  even  feign 
Desire  to  holpen  shipwrecked  soul. 

But  yestereve,  outworn  with  dole, 
And  yearning  once  again  to  walk 
About  my  childhood's  home,  and  talk 
With  men  of  hopeful,  gladsome  heart, 
I  called  my  kinsmen  here  apart, 
Bemoaned  my  sin  and  prayed  for  grace 
With  weeping  that  from  face  to  face 
Ran  burning  hot  and  swelled  apace 
Till  even  rugged  marineers, 
Who  heard  us,  melted  into  tears. 

Then  once  again  returned  the  low 
Unearthly  sigh  of  yore-ago, 
Xo  longer  breathing  threat  and  moan, 
But  loving  sweet  in  word  and  tone. 
It  fell,  I  thought,  from  starry  choirs, 
And  yet  it  frighted  not  the  ear; 
It  had  a  sound  of  golden  lyres, 
And  yet  it  whispered  silver  clear; 
It  seemed  to  bid  me  bend  the  knee, 


THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

And  yet  it  gently  breathed  to  me 
This  word,  as  sweet  as  word  can  be: 
'To-morrow  morning  shalt  thou  find 
A  work  befitting  humbled  mind; 
Have  mercy  on  thy  fellow  men, 
And  enter  into  peace  agen.' ': 


Such  was  the  Ocean  Vagrant's  tale, 
A  story  like  some  ghostly  wail 
From  awful  torture-chambers,  built 
By  mighty  wrath  for  wondrous  guilt, 
Where  yet  a  little  hope  remains 
And  struggling  pinions  shake  the  chains. 
And  when  he  ended  it,  a  groan 
Fulfilled  the  ponderous  galleon, 
As  though  the  very  ship  did  feel 
Remorse  from  topmast  down  to  keel. 

Meanwhile  that  company  of  four, 
The  seekers  after  Holland  shore, 
Nor  paled  to  hear,  nor  looked  around, 
As  though  it  were  familiar  sound; 
But  harkened  dumb,  with  drooping  eyes 
And  humid  cheeks  and  gentle  sighs, 
And  shaking  lips  that  prayed  within, 
Beseeching  grace  for  stubborn  sin: 
The  saddest  human  souls,  I  trow, 
The  wildest,  weirdest  in  their,  woe, 
That  ever  ploughed  the  rounded  sea, 
Or  ever  bowed  the  contrite  knee. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  193 

XXXIII 

Our  hero,  witnessing  their  sorrow, 
Was  moved  to  uttermost  compassion, 
And,  judging  their  repentance  thorough, 
At  once  began  in  sequent  fashion 
To  hum  and  haw  such  comfortings 
As  suited  best  his  own  emotion, 
Without  much  questioning  if  things 
Would  work  according  to  his  notion. 

"No  doubt,"  he  granted,  "sin  is  awful, 
An'  your  career  has  been  unlawful. 
You've  kinder  been  ambition-bitten, 
A  leetle  like  old  mother  Britain, 
An'  wrought  no  eend  of  peccadilloes 
In  tearin'  round  to  rule  the  billows. 
I  must  allow  you've  raised  a  rumpus 
About  as  big  as  chaps  can  compass. 
You've  mowed  a  mons'ous  swath  of  trouble, 
An'  trampled  feller  men  like  stubble, 
An'  made  your  guilt  appear  the  greater 
By  stickin'  at  it  like  all  nater. 

But  change  of  heart  an'  change  of  goin' 
Are  also  wuth  a  moment's  showin'. 
You've  turned  your  back  on  lyin'  Baalam 
An'  aimed  your  figger-head  for  Salem; 
You've  saved  at  least  two  feller  mortals 
From  slippin'  through  the  ghostly  portals; 
An'  sence  I've  been  a  Yankee  stormer 
I  never  met  a  Dutch  Reformer 
Who  seemed  in  penitence  more  hearty 


THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Than  you,  includin'  all  your  party, 
From  whence  I  draw  a  smart  assurance 
You've  reely  broke  from  Satan's  durance 
To  seek  a  berth  among  the  chosen, 
With  all  aboard,  from  cook  to  boasun. 

xxxiv 

"Besides,  I  find  a  hopeful  smatter 
Of  palliation  in  the  matter. 
Your  past  has  kinder  been  your  master 
In  sin  as  well  as  in  disaster. 
It  grabbed  you  at  the  first  beginnin', 
Before  you  squarely  thought  of  sinnin', 
An'  when  it  fairly  got  you  under, 
It  dragged  you  down  to  blood  an'  plunder, 
An'  through  a  sort  of  necromancy, 
That  wasn't  strictly  to  your  fancy, . 
It  made  you  grind  a  grist  of  evil, 
For  which  I  mainly  blame  the  deevle. 

In  short,  you've  been  predestinated 
To  walk  the  very  road  you  hated; 
An'  therefore  I  should  say  for  sartin 
The  surest  way  to  do  your  cartin 
An'  find  the  marciful  pertection 
Would  be  the  doctrine  of  election. 
Election  is  Apollyon's  horror; 
It  brimstones  hell  like  old  Gomorror, 
An'  raises  scalds  on  Gog  an'  Magog 
As  broad  acrost  as  Lake  Umbagog, 
An'  scorches  every  imp  to  cinder 
Who  tries  to  chuck  it  out  o'  winder. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE. 

That  dog-gamy  is  your  reliance  ; 
Astride  of  that  you'll  bid  defiance 
To  terrors,  doubts  an'  suchlike  temptins' 
An'  when  creation  runs  to  emptins' 
When  all  the  tribes  of  men  an'  sperrits 
Are  j edged  accordin'  to  their  merits, 
You'll  see  yourselves  as  high  as  any, 
If  Downing's  word  is  worth  a  penny. 


195 


"After  your  rough  an  tough  probation 
No  doubt  you'll  find  a  consolation 
In  makin'  sech  a  hahnsome  showin' 
While  shootin'  stars  an  trumpets  blowin' 
Reveal  to  every  kind  of  Hessians 
The  emptiness  of  mere  perfessions 
Without  a  sure  an'  solid  standin' 
Upon  the  creed  of  Plymouth  Landin'. 

In  that  arousin'  day  the  sinners 
Won't  keer  for  drinks  before  their  dinners ; 
In  vain  they'll  talk  of  keerds  an'  smokin', 
An'  try  to  brave  it  out  by  jokin'; 
They'll  soon  begin  to  want  a  shelter 
An'  start  for  cover  helter-skelter. 
With  graves  ajar  beneath  their  noses 
An'  saints  a-shinin'  round  like  Moses, 
How  they  will  jump  an'  dodge  an'  travel 
To  keep  from  slumpin'  under  gravel, 
An  scoot  acrost  lots  limber- jinted 
Whichever  way  their  snoots  are  pinted, 


196  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

But  tucker  out  at  last,  an'  foller 
Apollyon  down  to  Brimstone  Holler!* 

But  you,  the  children  of  election, 
Ordained  to  keep  the  right  direction, 
Or  only  sidlin'  out  by  seasons 
For  practical  an'  pressin'  reasons 
(As  granthers,  when  the  way  is  stony, 
Take  medder  paths,  to  spare  the  pony) 
You,  knowin'  well  your  sartin  callin', 
Won't  mind  to  see  the  skies  a-fallin' ; 
You'll  stand  around  as  stiff  as  steeples, 
An'  mayhap  jedge  some  casyal  peoples.' 


xxxvi 

To  suchlike  cheering  talk  our  chief 
Did  treat  these  patient  sons  of  grief, 
Whereof  he  babbled  knowing  little, 
But  holding  every  jot  and  tittle; 
For  while  he  never  once  debated 
But  Hell  would  swallow  those  he  hated, 
He  thought  that  whoso  roused  his  pity 
Would  smoothly  reach  the  golden  city; 
And  doubtless  he  foreshadowed  certain 
Exhorters  now  before  the  curtain, 
Who,  whether  orthodox  or  arian, 
Are  certainly  humanitarian. 

*  For  a  similar  sermon,  by  a  Georgian  camp-meeting 
exhorter,  see  the  New  York  Independent  of  July  12, 
1873.  Diversity  of  time  and  place  cannot  mar  the  unity 
of  genius. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  1 97 

Yet  being  practical  in  mind, 
And  by  orig'nal  sin  inclined 
To  spice  his  theologic  quirks 
With  Satan's  sauce  of  goodly  works  ; 
As,  also,  bearing  great  affection 
To  martial  modes  of  intellection 
(For  instance,  loving  much  to  pour 
His  views  along  a  rifle's  bore) 
He  shortly  ceased  to  prate  about 
The  topics  fate  has  wrapped  in  doubt, 
And  begged  his  hosts  to  take  in  hand 
The  alien  swarms  who  plagued  our  land. 

With  fervent  Yankee  zeal  he  prayed 
The  Flying  Hollanders  to  raid 
Britannic  Majesty's  "possessions ; 
Or,  failing  this,  to  mount  the  Hessians 
And  sink  the  wizard  fleets  that  drew 
Their  legions  over  Neptune's  blue : 
Or,  missing  these,  to  make  a  run 
In  search  of  Freedom's  setting  sun 
And  garb  our  needy  continentals 
In  mediaeval  regimentals. 

Ah,  moment  lost !     If  Downing  might 
Have  won  these  ancient  men  to  fight, 
Brittania's  unicorn  had  sunk 
Beneath  their  veteran  skill  and  spunk. 

XXXVII 

Betimes  our  worthy  chieftain  strolled 
In  wonder  through  the  rover's  hold, 
Surveying  riches  manifold : 


198  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

A  spoil  of  Afric  shells  and  whorls ; 
Embroidered  bags  of  Persian  pearls ; 
Cathayan  pipes  with  ivory  stems ; 
Arabian  falchions  sheathed  in  gems; 
The  glossy  bars  of  an  argent  mine, 
And  caskets  brimmed  with  brilliants  fine; 
A  hundred  leathern  sacks,  or  more, 
Of  gold  in  sequins,  gold  in  ore ; 
Sandal  coffers  of  Indian  shawls ; 
Ebony  thrones  from  Java's  halls ; 
Opulent  bales  of  silver  braid 
And  sheeny  silk  and  stiff  brocade ; 
The  spice  and  gums  and  healing  balms 
Of  sunny  islands  clothed  in  palms ; 
While  aloes,  frankincense  and  cloves 
Exhaled  a  steam  of  tropic  groves. 

All  these  he  saw  and  coveted. 
For  Downing?     Xo !     No  miser  he! 
He  sued  for  starving  ranks  that  bled 
In  shoonless  feet  beyond  the  sea. 
Yea,  high  and  noble  were  his  longings 
To  raise  a  loan  on  these  belongings, 
And  pay  our  troops  in  money  minted, 
Instead  of  money  merely  printed. 

But  no!     The  Wanderer  of  Time 
Had  done  with  battle's  flame  and  grime. 
In  vain  might  glory's  trumpet  sound ; 
He  answered,  "I  am  homeward  bound," 
And,  speaking  thus,  would  calmly  raise 
His  brow  with  such  a  far-off  gaze 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  1 99 

As  often  glorifies  the  eye 
Of  mortal  who  is  near  to  die. 

Moreover,  Downing' s  child  began 
To  love  this  sorrow-hunted  man, 
As  angels  love  a  mourning  soul ; 
So  tender-swift  to  spare  him  dole 
That  ever,  when  her  sire  might  dare 
Renew  his  plea  for  martial  ware 
She  checked  his  zeal  with  silent  prayer; 
She  hushed  him,  though  he  never  heard 
From  those  seraphic  lips  a  word. 

So,  onward  over  shining  seas, 
Without  a  sail,  against  the  breeze, 
The  lonely,  wizard  vessel  flew, 
No  longer  thrust  before  a  crew 
Of  tempest-fiends,  but  gently  pressed 
From  hailing  crest  to  hailing  crest 
By  loving  wings  unseen  of  men. 
The  very  galleon  seemed  to  ken 
That  now  at  last  she  neared  her  home 
And  presently  might  cease  to  roam ; 
For  all  about  her  prow  she  sang, 
And  carols  round  her  rudder  rang, 
And  every  rope  had  tuneful  lips; 
She  was  the  joyfullest  of  ships 
That  ever  ploughed  a  gladsome  wave, 
Although  she  flew  to  find  a  grave. 


2OO  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

XXXVIII 

The  morning  came,  the  last  of  moil 
For  those  who  sought  their  natal  soil ; 
And,  through  the  filmy  wraiths  that  drave 
In  shoals  from  steely  wave  to  wave, 
They  sighted  Holland's  seaward  bounds, 
Her  endless  dikes,  her  misty  sounds ; 
And  stealing -on  from  shape  to  shape, 
By  yawning  bight  and  crawling  cape, 
Anon  they  plainly  spied  afar 
A  tangled  wood  of  mast  and  spar, 
Displaying  flags  of  all  mankind, 
With  roofs  in  thousands  ranked  behind. 
While  here  and  yonder  lofty  spires 
Uplifted  psalms  from  brazen  lyres, 
Carilloning  o'er  earth  and  sea 
That  queenly  city's  jubilee. 

And  this  was  Amsterdam.     Her  sails 
Were  all  around  them.     Marvelling  hails 
Pursued  and  met  these  otherworld 
Vikings  veering  with  canvas  furled 
And  flaunting  flags  of  ages  gone. 
They  answered  not ;    they  speeded  on, 
All  landward  gazing ;   every  eye 
Intent  with  yearning  hope  to  spy 
A  shape  familiar  to  its  gaze, — 
A  ghost,  at  least,  of  other  days ; 
Intent  perchance  to  find  a  spot 
Where  lasting  quiet  might  be  got, 
The  peace  that  man  nor  cyclone  stirs 
The  restful  peace  of  sepulchres. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  2OI 


XXXIX 

But  nearing  now  their  longed  for  goal, 
A  ghostly  transformation  stole 
Athwart  these  searchers  after  land.. 
A  mighty  spell,  a  spectral  hand, 
Perchance  the  fume  of  earthly  airs, 
Unbraced  the  kindly,  tender  snares 
Of  miracle  that  held  them  young; 
And  all  the  bygone  years  that  hung 
Above  them  fluttered  down ;  and  they 
Were  smitten  wrinkled,  bent  and  grey. 

A  froth  of  silver  overrolled 
The  captain's  wealth  of  curling  gold, 
And  furrows  crept  adown  his  cheek, 
And  palsy  made  his  stoutness  meek. 
The  rounded  grace  and  rosebud  hue 
Of  fair  Cornelie  Vanderloo 
Fell  tremulous  and  white  and  spare 
As  lated  stars  in  morning's  glare. 
From  breath  to  breath  the  awful  change 
Increased  in  might,  took  wider  range, 
Pervaded  spirit,  blood  and  bone, 
And  swiftly  laid  the  strongest  prone. 

Erelong  the  leader  stood  alone, 
With  aged  head  in  meekness  bent, 
And  prayed,  ''Receive  us!  we  repent." 
One  moment  stood  with  lifted  face ; 
One  moment  claimed  the  Heavenly  grace; 
Then  sate,  nor  quitted  more  his  place. 
Cornelie,  now  a  withered  dame, 


2O2  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

Embraced  with  tears  the  shrunken  frame 
Of  him  whose  fated  nuptial  band 
For  ages  gemmed  her  living  hand, 
Both  bowing  heads  of  silver  hair 
And  moving  ashen  lips  in  prayer. 

The  greybeard  sailors,  ghostly  pale 
And  shaking,  leaned  against  the  rail, 
Or  feebly  fumbled  tools  of  rust 
And  cordage  crumbling  into  dust. 
For  all  the  galleon  was  fraught 
With  swift  decadence  into  naught; 
The  sails  were  dropping  mould  and  blight 
The  spars  blew  off  in  slivers  white ; 
The  oaken  sides  and  bolted  deck 
Relaxed  to  flimsy,  yawning  wreck ; 
Each  onward  fathom  tow'rd  the  quay. 
Wrought  lustres,  cycles,  of  decay. 


XL 

Then  Esther  Downing,  weeping,  cried 
UO  arms  of  mercy,  open  wide!" 
But  quickly  turned  her  piteous  stare 
On  Vanderdecken,  blanching  there, 
And  watched  him  with  the  stony  eye, 
Of  one  who  sees  her  dearest  die. 

Her  father,  gazing  where  she  signed, 
Beheld  the  fated  chief  reclined, 
As  white  as  man  already  dead, 
His  breath  a  sigh,  his  vision  fled, 
But  glad  in  all  his  patient  face, 


THE    ENCHANTED   VOYAGE.  2O3 

Like  one  who  fainting  wins  the  race ; 
While  close  beside,  companions  still 
As  when  they  followed  him  in  ill, 
His  kinsmen  paled  in  mortal  chill ; 
And  farther  on,  in  groups  of  death, 
His  sailors  gasped  away  their  breath ; 
All  waning  into  swift  eclipse, 
Yet  wearing  on  their  pallid  lips 
The  gentle,  thankful  smile  of  those 
Who  enter  joy  through  gates  of  woes. 

So  much  the  father  saw ;   and  then 
He  fled  before  those  ghastly  men. 
He  caught  his  child  within  his  arm 
And  burst  away  in  mad  alarm ; 
He  crossed  the  sways  and  vanishings 
And  dusty  whirls  of  fading  things ; 
And,  leaping  ere  the  bulwark  broke, 
Fell  gasping-dumb  'mid  living  folk, 
A  city  trampling,  all  a-stare, 
To  see  a  galleon  melt  in  air. 


XLI 

The  vessel  followed  him ;   it  stole 
In  silence  on ;   it  touched  the  mole 
Writh  gentle  rustle,  like  to  moss, 
Or  fungus  sprays,  or  thistle  floss, 
A  sigh  of  ruin  barely  heard, 
Though  never  starer  murmured  word. 

Arising,  Downing  turned  to  gaze, 
But  only  spied  a  drowsy  haze 


2O4  THE   DOWNING   LEGENDS. 

Of  ashy  motes  and  filmy  scales 
In  place  of  hull  and  masts  and  sails. 
Inert  and  pale  it  towered  high; 
One  solemn  moment  stained  the  sky; 
Then  slowly  into  distance  waned, 
And  when  it  vanished,  naught  remained; 
The  ocean-pest  had  ceased  to  roam ; 
The  voyagers  had  found  their  home. 
But  e'en  to  that  upstaring  throng 
Descended  grateful  drifts  of  song, 
The  chorusings  of  raptured  sprites 
Already  nearing  Eden's  heights ; 
To  whom  replied  a  welcome-psalm 
From  courts  of  golden  crown  and  palm. 

Then,  peering  downward  through  the  tide 
Of  verdant  crystal,  men  espied 
A  pulverous  settling,  frail  as  dawn, 
That  glimmered,  shuddered,  and  was  gone. 
Thin  waters,  woven  through  with  braid 
Of  trembling  sunbeams,  overlaid 
The  formless,  stagnant  residue 
Of  one  whom  every  tempest  knew. 

So  endeth  oft  the  noblest  plan 
Of  life's  mysterious  vagrant,  Man. 
He  struggles  long  with  hostile  waves ; 
He  triumphs,  calls  the  winds  his  slaves; 
He  hastens,  thinking  not  to  drown, 
And,  shouting,  "Land !"  goes  swiftly  down. 


THE    ENCHANTED    VOYAGE.  2O$ 

XLII 

Our  chief  in  marvel  raised  his  head, 
"At  least  it  fetched  us  here,"  he  said; 
"And  that  is  sartinly  a  sign 
That  Goodness  favors  our  design." 

Thereon  he  rived  the  burgher  jam 
And  calmly  entered  Amsterdam. 
But  scarcely  had  he  bent  his  feet 
To  thread  a  dusky,  devious  street, 
With  lofty  fronts  on  either  hand, 
The  quaintest  mortal  ever  planned, 
Ere  one  who  passed  him  in  the  fry, 
On  tiptoe  wheeled  with  bulging  eye, 
And  shooting  forth  a  bony  wrist, 
Commenced  to  shake  his  honored  fist, 
Salaaming  all  the  while  in  tone 
And  dialect  like  Downing's  own. 

Our  hero  turned,  in  vast  amaze 
At  Yankee  speech  in  Holland  ways. 
He  turned  and  saw  a  longlimbed  man 
As  lean  and  limber  as  rattan, 
With  lanky  hair  and  hollow  cheek 
And  quizzing  lips  and  sharpened  beak, 
Who  seemed  to  his  delighted  eyes 
An  angel  sent  from  downcast  skies. 
In  songful  drawl  the  stranger  spake : 
"I  ruther  guess  there's  no  mistake 
About  your  being  Shiloh's  lion, 
The  chap  who  saved  our  Yankee  Zion." 

Then,  ramming  fists  in  trouser-pockets, 


2O6  THE    DOWNING    LEGENDS. 

He  spouted  tidings  bright  as  rockets ; 
Rehearsing  how  the  bird  of  freedom 
Had  ripped  the  sawdust  out  of  Edom 
And  hustled  every  bull  of  Bashan 
Across  the  bounds  of  all  creation ; 
By  which  he  meant  our  sires  had  smitten 
The  hosts  of  Hessiandom  and  Britain, 
And  won  for  Downing  and  descendants 
The  stars  and  stripes  of  independence. 


XLIII 

Our  hero  smiled  with  satisfaction, 
But  promptly  turned  his  thoughts  to  action. 
He  rang  the  bells,  convened  the  city, 
And  made  a  speech,  a  loan,  a  treaty ; 
Then,  striking  out  some  Yankee  notion 
(Unknown  to  us)    of  crossing  ocean, 
He  turned  his  back  on  plans  of  slaughter 
And  journeyed  home  with  gun  and  daughter. 

Thus  fortuned  it  that  Shiloh's  hero 
Reduced  no  Hessian  states  to  Zero, 
But  hammered  ploughshares  from  his  sabre 
And  settled  down  to  farming  labor. 
Ah,  who  could  trust  the  weird  narration 
If  Downing  did  not  mean  a  nation, 
Our  Yankee  wit  and  brawn  and  bravery, 
Our  hate  of  Beelzebub  and  slavery! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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ec'd  circ.  MAR  2  2  1983 

JUNO  7  19921 

RECEIVED  BY 

JUN  0  -7  1991 

CtRCUUTION 


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